Standing Alone
by Arlene2
Summary: There is a traitor in Manhattan, or so Jack is led to believe. He doesn’t know who it is, but there is one that may. Which will prove more important: loyalty to all or loyalty to one?
1. A Prologue of Sorts

Standing Alone

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Summary: There is a traitor in Manhattan, or so Jack is led to believe. He doesn't know who it is, but there is one that may. Which will prove more important: loyalty to all or loyalty to one? 

Notes: This is a friendship fic above all, so no romance. Centered on Blink, Race, Jack, Mush and Spot.

Violence and language warnings.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything newsie-ish (except the video, which I "permanently borrowed" so that's technically not mine either...but I digress.) If you recognize it, I fear it isn't mine. If you don't, then it's probably just a figment of my imagination.

Please enjoy!

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"So, Spot, what's the story?"

Spot took his time before he responded. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit it as he made himself comfortable. "You wanna close that?" he gestured to the door of the small side room, which stood slightly ajar.

Jack stepped sideways and pushed it closed with more force than was necessary, signaling his impatience that Spot wouldn't get on with whatever he had to say. Spot had a habit of speaking only when he wanted to, something Jack could normally overlook, but times had changed over the past few days. Box Greene had gained support and was on the move, taking over territory with a terrible speed. He was threat and one that was not being taken lightly.

Spot hesitated for a moment, deliberately looking away from Jack as he began to speak. Jack found that slightly odd, Spot was never one to appear uncomfortable. "I got some bad news."

"What? Did you lose some in the fight last night-"

"One of your boys has been talkin', Jack."

"What did you just say?" Jack returned sharply, narrowing his eyes in disbelief that Spot would even think such a thing.

"Look, I'm just letting you know what I know," Spot attempted to calm the situation, misinterpreting Jack's shock as offense. If anyone dared to tell him his business like that, Spot would have knocked him down in the time it took him to close his mouth.

"No, ya see, I could have sworn that you just told me one of my boys has been talkin'. Is that right, Spot? Are you telling me one of my own boys is a rat?"

There was no question in what Spot meant by his words. He believed there was a traitor among them, something Jack couldn't believe. Spot had, in one sentence, insulted everything and everyone that had set foot in that house. He had pointed out weakness, disloyalty. The thought was unimaginable to Jack, so much so that he looked at Spot as if determining whether or not he had lost his sanity.

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin'," Spot responded evenly as he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette.

"Then I hope to God you got somethin' to share that ain't just some rumor goin' around the bridge."

"'Course, you think I'd make something like this up?"

"I'm listenin'," Jack turned away abruptly. As far as he was concerned there was nothing Spot could say that would convince him.

"My boys was out last night. They broke up a bunch of Box's rats meetin' just outside your territory. Most of them ran east, but one of them headed into Manhattan, toward your house. They followed him most of the way."

Jack crossed his arms, not knowing what else to do with them. Spot must have be wrong, his boys must have been wrong. They had always been uneasy with Spot and him allying, maybe they were just trying to come up with a reason to make Spot mistrust what strength could come from Manhattan. But they wouldn't mess with something this big, no one would. It was something you just didn't touch. Accusing someone of being a traitor was a good way for that someone to end up dead.

"Jack." Spot pulled him out of his silent thought. He wanted a name.

"They see who it was?" Jack asked, trying to recall if anyone hadn't been back in a few days or was beat up more than usual.

Part of him knew that even if Spot had a name, he wouldn't take matters into his own hands. Even though they were fighting against the same enemy and he was at just as much risk as Jack was by a potential leak, he knew his boundaries.

"You don't know?" Spot narrowed his eyes slightly. Jack felt the silent accusation as Spot watched him carefully. He knew it wouldn't speak well for him if he hadn't picked up on something so dangerous.

"I got my ideas," Jack lied, "I'm just seein' if your information is worth anythin'."

"Yeah, alright," Spot relaxed, accepting the answer as truth. "They didn't see who it was, it was too dark. But they did say they got off a few swings, so maybe your kid has a few scrapes."

Jack nodded, at least that was something to go on.

Something to go on? He couldn't believe he was listening to this. He couldn't believe that he was even entertaining the thought. It was a rumor some drunk bums from Brooklyn were passing along as truth because they didn't know which side of the bridge they were on. Spot was wrong and that was the end of it.

But it couldn't be the end. Jack couldn't ignore it, even if he didn't want to believe it. As much as he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind, he knew the possibility was there.

There wasn't anyone in the house he didn't trust. Well, at least enough not to go running to the one person that wasn't afraid of taking on both Manhattan and Brooklyn at once. Maybe that trust was misplaced. Maybe he had taken for granted that what he saw on the surface was the truth.

Whoever it was, they needed to be found quickly and dealt with. There could be no excuses. The act was inexcusable.

One of the faces that smiled so openly was stabbing him in the back, and probably with that same stupid grin. As he thought about it more, the pit in his stomach deepened and so did the anger. One that he had trusted, one that they all had trusted, had turned against them. And that is what made the situation all the more disappointing. It was one of their own, one that they knew.

Apparently, they didn't know one person among them as well as they thought.


	2. Molasses Summers

One week earlier

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"Let me have that," Blink tapped Race lightly with his shoe to get his attention.

Not looking up from his paper, Race took a quick puff from the cigarette and handed it over his shoulder up to Blink. Blink took it, inhaling as he leaned back into the shade of the alley.

It was a hot day in the middle of a seemingly endless stretch of summer. The sun was nearly overhead, beating down relentlessly on those unfortunate enough to be outside. The day was creeping by slowly, outmatched only by how slow business was. It was amazing how many people would rather suffocate inside than face the sun.

But then again, lack of business might be due to the lousy headlines that always seemed to make themselves feel right at home during the summer months. Somehow a headline with the words "insufferable heat" did little more than state the obvious and, if anything, seemed to drive away potential customers. You had to work harder to get less. And that wasn't much of an incentive to do anything but roll over and hope the morning passed you by.

What was usually a large lunchtime crowd at Tibby's had been reduced to a lucky few. Most were still trying to make up for the morning's losses, some just wanted to save themselves the money and go for a swim instead. Race was definitely of the second mindset, but he knew that the minute he got in the water was the last he would be working. It was too easy to let the day slip away when you weren't suffering through it.

Blink passed the stub to Jack, who lay stretched out over several steps in preparation to take a nap.

"Nah, I'm set," Jack waved it off as he turned his hat down over his face.

Blink returned it to his mouth and settled back.

"Hey, while we're young," Race snapped his fingers a few times, trying to remind Blink whose cigarette it was that he was smoking. Blink handed it down to Race a moment later, sensing his patience was a bit thin today.

Jack had met up with Race and Blink while searching for a shady spot out of sight from the bulls. Taking a break wasn't as easy as it seemed. If you weren't buying, shopkeepers didn't want you cluttering up their storefronts and restaurants. If you happened to stand for too long in front of house or apartment building, you'd have the residents yelling from the windows. If you didn't want to get hassled by the bulls for any of a thousand reasons they could come up with, you had to know where they patrolled and where they got enough kickback not to. But after years of circulating in the same few streets, knowing where you could rest for a few minutes in peace became as second nature to someone as knowing where to sell.

They hadn't searched for long, tired feet were notorious for not being picky and had lead them to the nearest vacant set of back stairs. It would be a good half-hour before the afternoon foot traffic would return to the streets and they would compel themselves into the congestion again to try and earn back a few cents.

Blink took off his hat and combed his soaked hair away from his forehead. He peeled his equally drenched shirt away from his skin with a slight frown. He hated summer.

"Has it ever been this hot?" he asked, fanning himself with his cap.

"Yeah, yesterday," Race responded with little energy. Sometimes he and Blink could go back and forth for hours, but today he didn't feel like concentrating that much. He brushed a drop of sweat away from his eye and continued reading. Burglaries, lost kid, something about France... it was the same thing everyday. Of course, they wrote it a bit differently and changed the names, but that was just to make you believe you were reading it for the first time. He didn't know why he read the damn thing anymore. Well, actually he did: the sports page. It had all the listings for the week's races. But at the rate business was going he wouldn't be able to eat with a clear conscience, let alone do any betting.

He felt a tap on his elbow and handed back the cigarette. As it left his fingertips, he held his hand there, indicating he wanted it back sometime in the near future.

"Thanks, Race," Blink exhaled as he handed it back.

"Yeah, yeah," Race put it back in his mouth, "Why don't you just smoke your own? I swear, people might start thinkin' I was generous or somethin'."

Blink laughed. It was one of life's little battles: bumming other people's smokes without getting called on it. But Race knew him too well and wasn't afraid to remind him of it every now and then.

"Like I said, thanks Race, you're a real pal."

"I'm surprised I ain't the only one you got."

"Well, I just tell 'em I'm friends with you n' they feel sorry for me," Blink said, moving his leg just in time to avoid a whack from Race's hat.

"You think you're real funny, huh?" Race pulled his hat back on, not bothering to try again.

"One of us has gotta be," Blink said as he stood up and stretched. Race just shook his head as he continued to read, a smile forming despite himself. He couldn't think of anything to comeback with. He blamed the heat, of course. On a normal day, Blink would have to try much harder than that to best him.

Seeing he got in the last word, Blink smiled to himself in satisfaction as he bent down and scooped up his stack of papers. Roused by the movement, Jack lifted the corner of his hat to see what was going on before letting it drop again.

"Seeya, Blink," he mumbled sleepily.

Race looked up from his paper briefly. "What, yous goin' already? It ain't even been fifteen minutes."

"I wanna get out now, see if I can make up for the day. Otherwise I'll lose a bit." Blink shrugged.

"Yeah, well it happens to the best of us. Take a load off, a half hour ain't gonna make no difference," Race said as he turned the page.

"Nah, I can't afford to lose no more," he said off-handedly, pulling his hat on.

"And how's that?" Race closed his paper and looked up at Blink. It had been him that suggested they take the break in the first place and now he was getting antsy about going back to work? Unflagging dedication wasn't exactly one of Blink's more noticeable traits and he was the last person to be concerned with money or the lack of it. He spent it when he had it and made due when he didn't. He didn't try to save it up like some did under mattresses or behind loose bricks. As long as he had enough left over for food and smokes he didn't complain.

But maybe things had gotten bad and Race just hadn't noticed. No, that couldn't be it, Race assured himself. The past few weeks might have been slow, but even some of the newer kids with little experience had been making out all right.

"It's nothin', forget it." Blink shrugged it off under Race's sudden attention. "I just ain't in no hurry to get no poorer, that's all."

"You need a bit to finish the week?" Jack asked from under his hat.

"No, it's nothin' like that," Blink refused quickly. He didn't want anyone to think he couldn't take care of himself. "Look, forget I said it."

Looking back down at his paper, Race took a casual drag on his cigarette, "Yeah, well, tell us when business picks up, huh?"

He opened the front page and pretended to read. Blink obviously wanted a graceful out from the conversation, so he was giving it to him. Besides, he wanted to think that he and Blink were good enough friends that if there was any trouble, money or otherwise, Blink wouldn't bother with the song and dance.

"Yeah, sure thing." Blink nodded in the way of goodbye as he stepped down onto the street.

Jack picked up the edge of his hat and watched with a half-opened eye as Blink walked toward the mouth of the alley.

"What was that about?" he asked Race as soon as Blink was out of earshot, "He been havin' trouble or somethin'?" Jack let his hat fall back down and made himself comfortable again, putting his arms under his head as a cushion against the cement.

"Dunno. First I heard 'bout it," Race shrugged as he turned from his paper to the street.

As Blink reached the corner, another figure caught his attention and that of Blink's as well. Leaning against the brick just inside the alley, the other kid was little more than a silhouette, though he wouldn't be surprised if it was Mush wondering why they hadn't gone swimming. After exchanging brief words, the kid took a step toward the street, the sunlight illuminating quite clearly that it wasn't Mush or anyone else Race knew. Blink quickly looked over his shoulder toward Jack and Race.

Race looked down to his paper, avoiding any eye contact. Blink's business was his own and he didn't want to be caught prying into it. But there was something in his expression Race noticed that seemed ...uneasy. He glanced back to the alley to see if the kid might be giving Blink trouble, but both were gone.

"He been eatin'?" Jack asked as he continued to shift into a more comfortable position.

"From what I've seen," he answered slowly, his mind preoccupied as he contemplated the empty mouth of the alley. He didn't recognize the boy Blink was with, though it was clear they knew each other.

"Well, see if you can get him to eat with us tonight, might as well get one good square."

"Yeah, alright." Race drew in a breath of smoke. He wouldn't be giving it a second thought except-

"Say, can yous wake me in twenty or so?" Jack asked with a yawn.

"Yeah, sure," Race responded, only half listening as he tried to maintain his train of thought.

-Except for that hint of uneasiness. Maybe he owed the kid money, Race concluded to his satisfaction. Something like that could be taken care of easily enough. He knew most of the major players in the city and wouldn't mind calling in a few favors, that is if Blink wanted him to. Some things needed to be taken care of without other people sticking their noses in and complicating matters. That was something he could respect.

He tossed the cigarette butt across the alleyway, watching where it fell absently. The ashes scattered with a few lingering sparks before being lifted into the air by a small breeze...the first hint there was anything beyond the stagnant thickness the city had become accustomed to.

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A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! They have really meant a lot to me and have been very encouraging.

Thanks especially to Anjeline, Studentnumber24601, Raeghann, Mondie, and SportyChik425


	3. It's in the Cards

By the end of the week, the heat hadn't relented, staying relatively uncomfortable well after the sun had set. Even with all of the windows propped open, the top level of the lodging house was unbearably hot. As a result, most had relocated themselves to the ground floor or just outside the door on the adjacent street.

The last edition had been sold for the day and the boys were slowing finding their way back to the lodging house. A group had gathered by the door, talking intermittently between periods of lazy silence. Tired bodies occupied every available piece of furniture, with some even sprawled on the floor. It was a night like countless others before it.

Inside, away from the wandering stares of any patrolling bulls, Race tried to set up a card game. He had found it hard to find takers at first, no one seemed willing to part with their hard won earnings. It was only when Dutchy suggested they play without money that he had enough players to run a game. He had been hesitant initially. Where was the fun in that? If there was no money there was no emotion, there was no impulsive action. Without the possibility of losing everything there was no need to risk anything and risk is what made gambling interesting. That and the money, he smiled to himself.

But he could understand where they were coming from and, now that he thought about it, he wouldn't exactly be proud of taking what little money his friends had. And he knew that's what would end up happening.

Specs handed Race a chair as Snoddy cleared off the nearest surface.

"Hey, I was readin' that," Mush protested half-heartedly as his paper was cleared off the table in question.

"Not anymore," Dutchy said, pulling a chair to the table. "You're playin' cards with us."

"I am?"

"What, you got a hot date or something?" Race asked sarcastically, knowing in reality that Mush had nothing better to do. The respectable girls were either still at work in the factories or locked safe at home and the less respectable ones wouldn't be out for a few hours. Being young and poor didn't exactly put you at the top of the list when it came to the affections of women. Though Mush did seem to pull it off now and then, he had to admit.

"Maybe," Mush crossed his arms with grin as he watched Race shuffle.

Race rolled his eyes away from the cards.

"What, is that so hard to believe?"

"Nah, God knows if you got a nickel for every girl that sits at home dreamin' about ya, you could quit bein' a newsie," Race kidded him. "Ain't that right Skitts?" he asked over his shoulder as Skittery joined them.

"Sure is," Skittery said as he sat down next to Race, the assurance in his voice easily masked the fact that he had no idea what the conversation was about.

"I don't need every girl, just one," Mush maintained with a look in his eye that seemed to say he had the one in mind.

"Yeah, and I only need one girl: Lady Luck," Race put his cigar back in his mouth as he began to deal out the cards, "And, you're gonna need her if any of yous think you're winnin' tonight."

He put down a card for each player as they made themselves comfortable.

He had dealt this particular game so frequently that he could have done it blindfolded. As if to test that theory, he took his eyes off the table and gave the room a once over. When the last card was out of his hand, he looked down at the table. Perfect dealing, he noted with approval.

Race handed out the last cards for the round and sat back. He had a good enough hand, good enough that he didn't have to concentrate on winning. He let his mind wander away from the game. It was not something he normally did, but they were just playing for fun so he wouldn't have to concentrate, especially with this group.

"I'm calling it," Specs put down his hand.

Race snapped back into the moment, smiling inwardly at the fact that he could run a game and be lost in thought, yet still win… Well, not this time.

"Full house beats your two pair, Race," Skittery said each word with savor, enjoying the idea of beating Race in his own game.

"I was just letting ya win to keep ya in the game. It's a trick of the trade, my boy," Race said good naturedly to save a little face. "Your deal," he sighed, pushing the pile of cards across the table to Skittery. He sat back in his chair and stretched out his legs. It was days like this when having holes in your clothes was a benefit.

Race pulled his collar away from his neck as he picked up his cards for the next game. No matter how many times he tore the stifling thing away it never ceased to find it's way back to irritation. After taking a brief look at his hand, he put down two cards and tapped his foot impatiently. There were two things he couldn't stand in a card game: losing and having to wait for the dealer to catch up with the action. The first he had just accomplished and the second was unfolding before him as Skittery dropped the deck and had to reshuffle.

Hearing a subtle rise in the voices outside the door, he tore his attention away from Skittery's lesser dealing to see who had come in. A moment later Blink strolled in and nodded to the table.

"Heya, boys," he greeted.

"Hey Blink," Race returned before picking up the cards Skittery had finally decided to grace him with.

"Heya," the rest of the table responded staggeredly, each variously absorbed by the cards they were holding.

"What's rollin'?" he asked as he took a seat nearby and started to untie his shoelaces.

"Nothin' much, just cards. Want in?" Dutchy folded with little regret. They obviously weren't playing for money.

"Nah. Don't care to have my ass beat by Race," he smiled, rolling up his shirtsleeves a bit further. "Besides, I think I'm gonna turn in early anyways."

"Yeah, that's right. Run away." Race waved him off with a laugh.

Seeing he was as comfortable as he was going to get for the moment, Blink stood up and neared the table.

"So, who's winnin'?" he asked with feigned curiosity, having a good idea of the answer.

"Not Race," Dutchy laughed under his breath, dodging withering looks from across the table.

"Nah? Really?" Blink answered, looking over Mush's shoulder at his hand, "Geez, Mush, you must be lettin' up on him tonight."

"I'm a nice guy like that," Mush frowned at his hand before folding. Blink reached over and picked up the cards. "Weren't you goin' to bed?"

"Tryin' to get rid of me?" Blink said as he concentrated for a moment on the cards in front of him.

"Just the part of you that's playin' my hand," Mush reached for the cards but Blink pulled them out of reach as he continued to look them over.

"See? Nothin'," Mush said, gesturing to the cards with frustration as he sat back again.

"Yeah," Blink agreed.

"Are you two done over there?" Race pulled the cigar from his mouth long enough to shake the ashes from the end. "Cause, we could just take a break and start when you're good and ready. Don't wanna rush you or nothin'."

"Yeah, go ahead," Blink said.

"Alright, put 'em down, boys," Race said with confidence. Losing once was a fluke and he knew it wouldn't happen again.

Dutchy was already out, Snoddy was good, but not good enough, Skittery had nothing, Specs had nothing, Mush had three of a kind-

Wait, that wasn't right...

"I thought you had nothin!" Race protested.

"And I thought you could read a poker face," Blink smiled smugly, almost as smugly as Mush was.

"Twice in a row, Race, you must be losin' your touch," Skittery said jokingly.

"You, shut up," Race pointed his cigar at Skittery before turning it to Blink and Mush, "And you two better wipe those wise-ass grins off your faces before I do it for ya."

He sat back, eyeing both of them with a healthy amount of annoyance. The last time he lost two in a row…he couldn't remember. But now, twice a row, in his own house. If word ever got out about this…

"Aw, come on, Race." Blink tried to keep a straight face as Mush elbowed him.

"Ain't you supposed to be on your way to bed?" Race tossed his cards in.

"Im goin', I'm goin'." Blink broke into a smile as he elbowed Mush back. "Night fellahs, go easy on Race now, let 'im win every now and then," he called as he headed toward the stairs.

"Keep walkin', Kid," Race called back, looking up from the table to give Blink a parting scowl.

Noticing a bit of a limp in Blink's walk, he looked down to the leg in question and sure enough there was the making of an ugly bruise disappearing just under the cuff of his trousers.

"Say, Blink," Race called him back, forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to still be angry, "That's a good shot you got there, what happened?"

Blink stopped in mid-step and reflexively looked down at his leg. "Ah," he began, noticing the table's attention had turned to him, "I wasn't lookin' where I was goin', tripped right over a curb. It's nothin'."

The players turned back to their hands, satisfied with the explanation and disappointed it wasn't something like a fight. But Race wasn't so satisfied. He caught Blink's eye as he climbed the stairs. Under that smile there was an odd sort of uneasiness that he had come to recognize over the years.

He picked up his next hand, favoring the cards with less attention. He wondered what it could be this time. Maybe Blink stole too much from one cart or looked at someone the wrong way-or maybe that someone's sister. Race tossed those ideas the minute he thought of them, Blink would probably be bragging about something like that.

He thought about it for a bit longer, his mind suddenly remembering a day the other week when Blink was acting a little strange. He settled on the reason almost immediately. That kid had probably come to collect again, but with business as dismal as ever, Blink probably couldn't pay up. It had happened to Race enough times and he had the scars to prove it.

Race knew he should mind his own business, but he couldn't convince himself to stay out of it. With new resolve, Race moved to fold his hand and head upstairs. As he did so, an unfamiliar voice drifted in from outside.

"Where's Jack Kelly at?" it asked quickly, as if not to waste words.

From the silence that followed and the approaching footsteps, Race could tell that those outside were of little help, purposely or not. He sat back in his chair and watched the door, waiting for the owner of the voice to enter. But the figure didn't enter, satisfied just to hover at the edges of the doorframe. It took Race a minute to recognize the boy and, as he did, it became clear why nobody wanted anything to do with him.

He was Brooklyn.

"Heya, Eights," Race called out toward the door, less in greeting than permission to enter.

The table of players reflexively turned to the door, forgetting about the game for the moment. The stalky figure hesitated for a moment before deciding to take a step into the house. The boy was known as Eights, he was one of Spot's, but other than that Race didn't know too much about him. He'd seen him on business a couple of times and heard Spot talk about him occasionally. Apparently he was a "good" kid, but coming from Spot it probably had more to do with his ability for knocking heads than any character measure.

"Heya, Higgins." Eights nodded, finding a familiar face in the room. He took only a few steps inside, no further than he had to make sure he was heard. But there was no question he would be heard, for the room had gone almost silent as his presence was noticed.

"What's rollin'?" Race asked, getting to the point.

Reminded of his business, Eights feel into his usual ease, which for Brooklyn usually meant arrogance of some degree. Eights was no exception, though he seemed a bit reserved. No doubt he was as uncomfortable being there as they were to have him. "Kelly in?"

"Nah," Race picked up his cards again," Somethin' I can help you with?"

"Yeah," Eights said after a pause, as if deciding whether or not he could trust his message to them. "Tell your boy that Spot's gonna be meetin' with him tomorrow, here."

"Yeah? What about?"

"Business," Eights responded with a finality that meant either he didn't know anymore or he wasn't going to be discussing it.

"Alright, he'll know about it." Race looked back down to his cards.

"See that he does," Eights said with a barely concealed sneer as he gave the room a parting once over. No one made eye contact with him, actively avoiding his disdainful gaze. His lips curled in to a half-smile at this, obviously proud of whatever reputation he had, even if it was by association.

"If I'm in the mood," Race continued as if Eights hadn't spoken. He wasn't going to let Brooklyn get the last word, and Eights was acting a little too high and mighty considering he was knee deep in Manhattan.

Mush let out a calculated chuckle as he looked back to his cards. The rest of the table caught on and so did those within earshot. The silence that had accompanied the unexpected visitor ended as abruptly as it started, with conversations picking up where they had left off.

Eights' self-satisfied smile dissolved into a scowl. He turned his narrowed eyes on the room, but no one was paying attention to him anymore. He had no other option but to leave, unless he wanted to be made a fool of. Cursing under his breath, he turned and left as quickly as he came.

Race looked up and gave Mush a triumphant smile. Manhattan 1, Brooklyn 0. Mush smiled back in acknowledgement. They had been dealing with Brooklyn long enough to know what pushed their buttons and had been doing it long enough to pull it off without much effort.

After Eights left, the conversations inevitably turned toward why Brooklyn would have business with Manhattan. Of course they all had a pretty good idea, but this was an excuse to talk about it and rehash any new rumors for the day.

"I got a feelin' I know what that's about," Mush summed up the collective thought of the group, though he left it at that.

They all knew. There wasn't a kid working that hadn't heard the quiet stories floating through the city. With Brooklyn getting involved, it only validated the problem and showed them that it wouldn't simply disappear as they hoped.

There could be only one reason why Spot would come himself. The whispers had grown too loud to ignore…

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AN: As always, I hope you enjoyed. Please let me know how I'm doing so far, I'd love to hear from you!

Special thanks to 24601, Sportychik425, Geometrygal and Reesie


	4. A Day Less Ordinary

It had begun as whispered rumors circling the street corners, hushed conversations between selling partners that he had returned. It had started as idle gossip and nobody paid much attention. It wasn't him, they told each other, he was dead. But the whispers had grown less hushed and the voices had multiplied. Overnight, rumors turned fact and an uneasiness crept through the alleyways.

On the street his name was spoken in low tones, the respect and fear attributed to him made his existence more legend than fact. Although there were plenty still around that could attest to his ordinary beginnings, the stories were more important. They told of one who had come as near as anyone had to closing his hand around the city. One that had territory in Brooklyn, Queens, Midtown and even the Bronx.

He came into his power quickly and went largely unchallenged, though many spoke of his often brutal tactics and the deals he had with the police and the papers. They wanted someone to keep the masses of unorganized street kids in line, he wanted money and control. He made life on the streets more tolerable for those that would follow him, but for those that wouldn't, there was no safety.

They said no one could hold on to what he had. So they waited. They held their breath, watching for the day when he would stumble.

A brawl erupted one night, most say it was over the rights to a selling spot. He wanted it, they weren't giving it. Resistance wasn't something he encountered often.

It wasn't him, they said with a nervous laugh, no one could have survived that night. That night down in Brooklyn when the streets turned red. That night when thirty-seven died over less than a square block. The night that turned into weeks of unpredictable violence as others tried to take over. But no one could hold on for long and divisions were made, splitting the city into rival territories that hadn't changed much since.

His rise and fall was just another in a history the city would forget about as the years passed. But his memory was still present in those that were old enough to remember.

It couldn't be him, they said, just some kid claiming his name.

Box Greene was dead, they reassured themselves, he wasn't coming back.

* * *

The morning passed with little note. Business hadn't picked up any, but Race had adjusted by buying less over the past few days, so his stack was a decent way gone by mid-day.

An older gentleman stopped to buy a paper around noon. He bought it on his way downtown everyday like clockwork, one of the few people that could appreciate the news with or without headlines. This marked the end of the morning for Race and it was when he usually decided to take a few minutes off.

Holding the last of his cigarette in his mouth, he hoisted his stack of papers up to his shoulder and attempted to thread himself through the crowded street. He figured it wouldn't hurt to grab a cup of coffee for lunch, he could spare a cent.

Remembering that Blink's spot was nearby, he took an impulsive detour in that direction. Maybe he would swing by and see if Blink wanted to come along. At least they would get a chance to talk, or at least Race would get a chance to talk to him. Whether or not he felt like talking back would be another issue. Last night, Race had forgotten about his concerns and, by the time he remembered, it was too late to get into it.

He turned the next corner and crossed the street, taking a shortcut down an alley. Emerging onto the street again, he took a quick look around but Blink was nowhere in sight.

_Figures_, he sighed, tucking his papers under his arm again. Taking one last look, he set off down the street. It seemed like everyone and their brother had decided to take a walk that day. The street was so congested he had a hard time finding a straight line to walk in. He ducked into the next alleyway he could get to, preferring to take the longer back route if it meant he could breath.

He walked along at a good pace, the buildings on either side of him offering a temporary relief from the sun. He hadn't gone far when he heard raised voices drifting easily through the empty alley. The crash of a wooden crate splintering against the ground followed.

_Prolly a fight or somethin'_, he mused to himself, not inclined to investigate further. He had learned quick that it was in his best interest not to get mixed up in anything he didn't start.

As he continued to walk, the voices grew louder and it was clear his path would cross theirs at some point. His pace slackened as he approached the next turn a bit more cautiously; he didn't really want to get involved if he could help it. Coming to a stop at the corner, he took a quick look around the edge.

There were three boys talking, though it seemed even with tempers flared, a fight wouldn't be imminent. The way they were standing pretty much took up the entire alley and there was no way he getting around unnoticed. Just his luck, now he would have to go completely out of his way to get around. They just had to pick this of all alleys to have their little talk in.

He stepped back from the corner and moved to go back the way he had come. Hopefully, he would still have time to grab some coffee and relax, but, after his many detours, he wasn't sure.

As he turned to go, one of the boys moved enough so that he got a passing look at him. He looked familiar, though it took him a minute to place him in his memory. It was that kid from the other week, the one that had business with Blink. He thought it was odd to see him again so soon. In a city that big, you could go for weeks without seeing people that lived the next street over.

He turned his attention to the other two. One had his back turned and the other was still not completely visible. He watched for a bit longer, slightly more curious. The one with his back turned took a step toward the other kid, offering a clear view of the third.

It was Blink.

Race moved back to the corner, forgetting about the coffee.

That kid was probably back to collect, this time with a friend. How stupid were they to try and get their money twice in two days? Amateurs. The only good that would do was get you a black eye and few enemies. And they looked like a couple of newsies themselves, they should have known how bad it'd been.

One pointed a threatening finger at Blink and Race was about to step out and lend him a hand in showing them the way out of Manhattan, when he saw Blink put up his hands defensively and back away.

_What the hell?_ Race furrowed his brow as he stopped himself from stepping into view. He had never seen Blink give in or back down from a potential fight. He had started a few for less than a pointed finger and sure as hell wouldn't let two bums like them get away with it.

"I told yous what you wanted to know, now beat it," he heard Blink's voice filter past him.

"Are you sure that's what you want us to tell Greene?"

Race's stomach tightened. There was no way he heard what he thought he heard.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he heard Blink respond.

Why would Blink be talking to a heel like Box Greene? He knew what kind of trouble that would bring.

All at once, a sickening realization came over Race. His hand almost dropped the stack of papers, forgetting he was holding them. There could be only one reason why Blink was talking with Greene, why he would even think about risking it.

Race looked up as Box's boys left, departing down the opposite alley, in no apparent hurry. The fact they seemed so comfortable in his territory did little to calm the anger that was rising inside of him.

As soon as they were far enough away for his liking, Race moved out into the alley and walked toward Blink slowly, allowing his footsteps to announce his presence. He watched Blink with disbelieving eyes, his fists tightening. Although he had not convinced himself that what he saw actually happened, there was a darkness in his expression that he could feel. His fingers dug into the stack of papers he was carrying, ripping into the top copy.

Blink looked over to the sound of Race approaching, a momentary fear crossing his face as their eyes met. But it wasn't the typical fear that came from being outnumbered twenty to one; it was the distinct fear of getting caught in the middle of something you shouldn't have been.

"Hey Race," he managed with a much casualness as he could, almost convincingly so.

Smooth, Kid. Real smooth.

Race didn't answer as he came to a stop a few feet away. Moving to the side of the alley to pick up his stack of papers, Blink gave him a quick smile that didn't quite make it up to his eyes. As he lifted the papers, he glanced down the alley to see if the other two were still in sight.

"Don't worry, they're gone," Race answered his silent question.

Blink stiffened visibly, but continued to arrange the stack under his arm. "N' whose that exactly?" he asked, not looking up.

He glanced to Race after a long pause, the last traces of his smile fading. Race hadn't moved, his expression still locked in the same severe stare. Blink turned his attention back down to his papers and finished ordering them before he closed the few steps between them.

He looked at Race carefully, as if searching for a trace of understanding.

"You shouldn't have seen that," he said finally.

"Tell me what I was suppose to see." Race narrowed his eyes as he answered. He could hear the disbelief and anger he had tried so hard to hide seeping into his voice.

"It ain't how it looks," Blink offered simply, knowing that wouldn't be good enough, but hoping Race would take it.

"Tell me what it's suppose to look like," Race countered, his voice more controlled. _Tell me and I'll believe you. God, Blink give me anythin' and I'll believe it.  
_  
Blink didn't answer, the silence between them telling Race more than any half-truths.

"What, no answer?" Race prompted him after an uncharacteristically long silence. He always had an answer.

"What do you wanna hear, huh?" Blink returned, his temper starting to flare.

"Start with what the hell you was doin' with those two," Race's voice picked up Blink's irritation.

"I can't-"

"You can talk to them, but you can't talk to me? Is that how it is?"

"Look, you don't got no idea how it is. You ain't even got a clue!" Blink erupted.

"So lay it on me!" Race countered, matching his intensity. But his words held more of a desperate need for understanding than anger.

Blink hesitated, as if considering it. But the moment was fleeting and his face returned to that hard expression. The one that Race had only seldom seen and hated because it was so unlike him. Blink dismissed the possibility with a shake of his head before moving to step past Race.

He wasn't getting off that easily. Race stepped to the side to block him, his shoulder shoving into Blink's chest as they collided.

"Don't make it like that, Race," Blink warned, forced back slightly.

"You're makin' what it is," Race said, not moving.

"Get outta my way, Race," Blink threatened.

Race stood his ground. Their eyes locked. It was like he was talking to a stranger.

"I said get outta my way," he repeated, any hint of familiarity gone, "Are ya deaf or just stupid?"

They both knew the next step wouldn't involve words. If one of them didn't back down it would be well within their rights to start a fight. But they weren't just two strangers arguing over a selling spot. A fight between them would mean more than a black eye, it would mean years of friendship. Race wasn't stupid, he knew no matter how angry he was now, he wouldn't let it get out of control. He just hoped Blink wouldn't let his temper get in the way, but he couldn't be sure. After what he'd just seen, he wasn't sure what Blink would do.

After a moment Race turned slightly to the side, just enough to show he was backing down.

Blink pushed past him, not looking back. But Race thought he saw the quickest flicker of relief on Blink's face.

Race closed his eyes for a moment, his mind quiet except for the sound of Blink's footsteps slowly receding. His heart was racing; he could hear it pounding in his chest. But other than that he was numb. He didn't feel the ground beneath him or the air around him, everything had fallen away. . .everything except the confusion. His world had changed and he didn't know why. None of it made sense. Blink would never betray them

They had known each other for years, as long as Race had been living in Manhattan. He had never questioned where Blink was coming from. Never once had he doubted where his loyalties lay. Nothing could break them, that's what they always said. When others were down, Blink was the first to remind them how good they had it. And if it came down to it, he was the first to defend against anyone who would threaten what they had. Sure, he wasn't always right and he didn't always make the best decisions, but that's what made him just like everyone else. Living so long in one place meant that you knew and trusted those around you. He had trusted Blink.

Nothing could break them. He had always believed that. Race scoffed under his breath at the thought, how could he have believed that? One of the people he had cared about most was nothing more than a fake, a backstabbing scab.

He shifted his papers to his other arm and forced his feet to start walking. The shouts of the newsies on nearby streets had reminded him that he had papers to sell.

He couldn't tell the others. . . they wouldn't understand, not that he understood. He needed to think it over, figure out what was going on, or that's what he told himself at least. He knew how serious this was and he knew the minute anyone else knew about it would be the beginning of the end for Blink. He couldn't do that, he couldn't turn his back on him, even though Blink hadn't given it a second thought. A small part of him still trusted Blink. God help him for that.

Nothing could break them, that's what they said anyway.

* * *

* * *


	5. Let the Tea Party Begin

Jack flipped back to the front page and started to read the headline story again. 'Maniac Horse Throws Woman from Carriage.' It wasn't a war, but it did what it was supposed to do. He'd sold about thirty of them. If anyone asked, he would make it fifty. Thirty on a day like this was like his usual hundred, though without the headline he would have done worse. _People must have a thing for animals and women_, he mused as he skipped to the next page. Of course, the story revealed the woman had only just stepped onto the carriage when the horse was spooked, so 'thrown' was a bit of an overstatement. 'Stumbled back a few feet with a miffed expression' would have been more accurate. But accurate wasn't profitable.

He could read better than most, but it still took him awhile to get through a column. Sometimes he would read it twice if he had to skip too many unknown words. After a few years, he still hadn't figured out what 'contingent' meant, though a lot of things seemed to rely on it.

He rubbed his eyes, the dim light of the early evening starting to blur the print.

"Ey! Can somebody get a light goin'? I can't see two inches from my face over here!" he yelled to no one in particular, knowing someone would take care of it eventually.

"What's new?" a voice responded, followed by a laugh.

"Ha ha, I'm laughin'," he said sarcastically, continuing to read. "You'se a born comedian." He'd learned that one a few days ago. It meant someone who got paid to make people laugh or something, he couldn't really remember, but it seemed to fit.

"A what?" The laughing paused with a confused silence, not knowing whether to be insulted or not.

"Yeah, that's right, a comedian. You wanna make somethin' of it?" Jack said, not looking up from the page.

"Nah, that's ok," the voice responded uncertainly, not sure if Jack had gotten away with something akin to murder or was merely throwing odd words around again.

"What's new?" Jack muttered to himself, imitating the boy. He usually didn't mind taking a few knocks every now and then, but tonight he just wasn't in the mood for it. Spot would be gracing them with his presence any minute and he knew the news wouldn't be good. He either wanted Manhattan to formally join with Brooklyn against Greene or he wanted to have a tea party.

A few moments later, a dull flicker of light caste a temporary haze over the room as an oil lamp was lit. The room gradually grew lighter as a couple more were set out, a warm glow filling all but the deepest of shadows. They had found a collection of the lamps behind a fancy house uptown one afternoon last year. Half of them were broken or the glass cracked, but they had saved the usable parts and pieced them together. They weren't much to look at, but they worked pretty good.

Being able to see, he pulled the paper away from his face and sat back in his chair. He looked up as two small boys tore through the room with wooden swords, trying to imitate a fight on horseback.

"Watch it with those," he said almost automatically, having said it a hundred times to that specific pair alone. He had to find out where they got those things and soak the guy that made them. Just that morning he had been hit in the knee with one of them. Why couldn't kids play with cards like everyone else?

They stopped in their tracks and nodded with innocent understanding, backing out of the room silently. As soon as they were out of sight, he heard their footsteps resume the frenzied pace. _Kids_, he sighed.

A boy ducked his head in the door a moment later, holding on to the frame as he recovered his breath and managed to speak. By his flushed face and weakening legs, it appeared as though he had been running as fast as he could to relay his message.

"Spot's comin'," he reported quickly before disappearing in to the street again.

Jack looked up from his paper. It was about time. He'd almost had to read the part that talked about rich people getting married, which would have only served to worsen his mood. He tossed the paper aside and sat up, pulling his leg from over the armrest and setting both feet on the ground.

"Race. Mush," he called across the room, nodding to the door as he stood.

They both looked away from their conversation, though it looked mostly one- sided. Mush was talking more than usual to make up for Race's lack of conversation. Now that Jack thought about it, Race did look a bit out of it. Probably lost at the tracks again. He was glad he didn't have any habits that ate up his money like that, he thought as he felt for a cigarette in his pocket. Not finding one, he started for the door, making a note to roll a few later.

Jack pushed the guest book aside and hoisted himself up to take a seat on the front desk to wait. Everyone else in the vicinity quickly decided they had something that needed to be done elsewhere. He didn't blame them, he'd rather be in fifty other places at the moment, though his reasons were completely different. He knew what was going on, they didn't.

Mush joined him in the entryway, taking a seat on the stairs. Race followed soon after and nodded to Jack as he leaned against the wall. They knew the drill.

Jack needed people to back him up, even if he didn't expect any trouble. Sometimes it was simply to intimidate, sometimes for protection, but in this case it was merely customary. Spot and Jack both knew what the other was capable of and knew there would be no threat in their meeting.

Having people behind you was more than just decoration, it showed you weren't acting alone, that you did have those that supported you and would back you up if it came down to it. Jack needed those that had been around for a long time, long enough not to be scared of Brooklyn or Spot; or if they were, smart enough not to show it. Race and Mush had been around almost as long as him and he trusted them.

Those sitting outside the front door fell uncharacteristically silent, allowing the sound of several pairs of footsteps to be heard over the cobblestones. They were unhurried and unaccompanied by voices, though he could hear the barely audible tap of a cane.

Jack slid off the counter to stand in front of it, silently telling Race and Mush to go on guard.


	6. Risks

The footsteps drew closer. The light spilling from the doorway illuminated three figures just before they entered. A taller boy strode through the door first, followed by one that was just under Jack's height and held a gold tipped cane loosely in one hand. Jack didn't bother to look at the last boy to enter.

He nodded to Spot as stood away from the desk.

Spot settled a few feet within the door, the two others drifted to stand behind him as if it were second nature to them. One was Eights and the other one Jack didn't recognize.

Spot nodded to Jack as he slipped his cane through a belt loop. His clear blue eyes swept the immediate interior quickly for any sign of a threat, before settling his attention on Jack again. He did this with the same casual ease that he carried himself with, so much so, that it could easily be mistaken for an uninterested examination of the holes in the wall. But Jack knew better. Even after countless visits over the years, Spot still began each meeting this way. Jack wasn't offended by it though, knowing Spot did it more out of habit than mistrust.

That was just the way Spot was. In all the time Jack had known him, he'd never seen Spot let his guard down. Even when he was deep in his own territory, he was always watching.

A card game for most might be a way to relax and forget about the day, but to Spot it was a way to keep everyone in sight. While others were laughing about the last dirty joke they heard, he was laughing along with them, but his mind was miles away. He was figuring out a way to have them act in his best interest or turn against each other. Over the rim of the shot glass, his eyes were watching the quiet ones in the back, trying to spot the troublemakers before they themselves realized it.

It was probably the reason he was still around, that and his reputation. When they were handing them out, that kid got the long end of the stick. No one went near him unless they had a reason too, and even then they would avoid it.

Jack wasn't sure what was truth and what was entirely fabricated, probably by Spot himself. All he knew was what he had seen with his own eyes and that was enough to prove Spot had earned a great deal of the respect he got. And it was respect, not just fear. Though for most outside of Brooklyn, fear was the first thing that came to mind.

"You gonna invite me in, Jacky, or do I gotta stand here all night?" Spot prompted. He wasn't accustomed to waiting for anything and certainly not to be kept waiting by anyone. He knew the rules though, and would abide by them. They were in Jack's territory and he called the shots.

Jack spit into his palm and held it out for him.

"How ya doin', Spot?"

"Good, Jack," Spot shook his hand, allowing a smirk. "How's it rollin'?"

"You tell me."

"Yeah, alright," Spot nodded as his smile once more dissolved into a guarded expression. "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Sure." Jack gestured into the other room. "Race, keep these two entertained, would ya?" Jack said, nodding to Spot's boys, indicating he didn't want a repeat of a few months ago.

The last time Brooklyn graced them with their presence, a fight had erupted. The result was more than a few bruised bodies and some broken furniture, which they all had to pay for. It hadn't helped the tenuous relationship and probably hurt any progress made in burying the frictions between them.

"You got it." Race nodded, crossing his arms as he looked the two over. They didn't look like they would cause problems, but Eights didn't seem entirely thrilled to be back.

"What are you lookin' at?" Eights started, more than happy to pick up where he had left off the night before.

Spot glanced briefly to him, not even making eye contact, but that was enough. Eights backed down.

"Not much." Race couldn't resist, knowing he would either get a black eye or another one up on Eights, but he didn't care. Mush flashed him a warning look, which he caught out of the corner of his eye and ignored for the moment.

Spot held out a hand to stop Eights before he moved. His eyes turned deliberately and slowly to Race. Mush stood up on the stairs as Spot moved toward them, tensing as his footsteps came to rest uncomfortably close to Race.

Jack closed his eyes and rolled them to the ceiling. This was not what he needed.

"Jack, you oughta keep your's in line," he said, within inches of Race's face, staring him down quietly. His words were clearly meant for Race, though he said them loud enough to reach Jack's ears and anyone else in the room.

Race held his ground for a brief second before finding a sudden interest in the wall behind Spot. His smile never did completely fade, his pride not allowing it, even though he could feel Spot's eyes boring into him.

He had been around long enough to know Spot wouldn't do anything, not here and certainly not for some smart-ass remark. For a kid that had such a reputation for fighting, Race had only rarely seen him do it. He didn't have to, a look or a word was usually enough. So as long as Race kept his mouth shut and appeared to get the message, Spot would probably be satisfied.

"Can't help ya there, Spot, they keep themselves. I just try 'n stay outta the way," Jack said, moving next to Race and resisting the urge to smack him upside the head. Once, just once, he'd like to avoid this type of thing.

Spot expected certain behavior, he operated under rules. Manhattan was different from Brooklyn in that respect. Where Jack could be counted on to lead them if need be or take care of people like Spot, he was never really looked upon as any different than the rest of them. He didn't tell them what to do anymore than they told him what to do. Brooklyn thought Manhattan was disorganized, Manhattan thought Brooklyn was one step up from the sewer. They might be a big and dangerous sewer, but they were still full of scum. It wasn't exactly the foundation for a warm relationship.

Jack turned into the other room, praying that Spot would lose interest and follow him. They had bigger things to discuss than toes being stepped on.

There was a dangerous glint in Spot's eyes that would have sobered Race quickly if he had seen it. Mush did, however, and stepped down a stair closer to the two. Spot glanced to Mush almost challengingly. Seeing he wasn't going to try anything, Spot turned back into the main room, not giving Race a second look as he followed Jack.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Mush said under his breath, as soon as Spot was out of earshot. "You're askin' for it."

"Nah," he laughed it off, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, "just takin' a few risks, that's all."

"Next time try not to take' em with Spot, ok?" Mush advised him lightly, though Race could tell he meant it.

* * *

Poker. The game that brought people together. Race smiled to himself as he looked around the table. No matter where you were from or how badly you wanted to deck the guy across the table, it never ceased to offer distraction. The best way to avoid trouble was to keep everyone happy and thinking about the little numbers on the cards. Did the trick every time. 

He was in luck that Brooklyn had been making out pretty good in the past weeks, good enough that they had plenty of money to lose…play with, he corrected himself. He was in even more luck that they had actually agreed to play. Apparently standing by the door looking menacing had gotten old and they had wandered over themselves.

Boys were coming in and out regularly. In from work and straight out again as they saw Brooklyn. They commented on the sudden smell as the excuse, which only thinly veiled the true sentiment. Of course Brooklyn ignored it in favor of the game, Spot had clearly indicated he wanted no trouble and they wouldn't be the first to throw a punch.

The noise surrounding the door rose momentarily again. Race's eyes glanced absently to the door to see who it was this time. His eyes locked for a second with Blink's, but he looked back down before anything but recognition could be exchanged. Mush turned around to greet him, figuring Race was too busy dealing.

"Heya Blink-" he started before letting out a low whistle, "Nice one, Kid." Mush smiled, unable to avoid noticing a forming purple bruise under Blink's good eye.

"Yeah, thanks," Blink returned quickly from across the room, lacking any trace of humor.

Mush turned back to the game, sensing this one wasn't an accident and thinking better than to pursue it.

Race looked back up at Mush's observation. He didn't know what happened and he honestly didn't care. It was probably less than half of what Blinked deserved. The hours between that afternoon and night had left Race floating between complete denial that anything ever happened and cemented anger. Right now he was somewhere in the middle, though he had decided he would give Blink another chance. And what better time than the present. Besides, he knew every minute he sat on this might be doing untold damage. If Greene had a tie to the inside, it had to be known.

Race finished dealing the hand and looked over to Dutchy who was sitting next to him.

"You wanna give this a go for me?" Race said, not waiting for a response. He set the deck down and pushed his chair back to stand. He walked past the table, ignoring the mutterings of the Brooklyn boys wanting to win their money back, and found his way to the front.

"Hey, Blink, you got a minute?" Race caught him before he reached the stairway.

Blink stopped abruptly, caught off guard by the sound of the voice. He hadn't expected Race to come anywhere near him after that afternoon.

"Yeah," Blink crossed his arms, regarding Race uneasily, "I think so."

Race didn't know what he really wanted to say; he just wanted to feel Blink out. Almost to see if what happened earlier actually happened.

"How ya doin?" he asked.

"Doin' fine."

"What happened there?" Race tried again more directly, indicating his eye.

"Nothin'." Blink shrugged slightly

It was like pulling teeth. Whenever Race wanted to sleep, he couldn't get the kid to shut up fast enough and now, when he needed his answers the most, they weren't there.

"I'm leavin' Race," Blink said abruptly, causing Race to forget about his temporary frustration.

"What, now?" Race said, he wasn't expecting that, though it didn't come as a complete surprise. Sometimes they would leave for a few days if it got too crowded or if they wanted some trouble to blow over, which is what Race assumed this was. "How long?"

"I'm leavin'," he repeated, meeting Race's eyes for the first time. He was leaving for good.

"Why?" Race asked, though he knew why, at least in the way Blink would interpret the question. In his own way, that one word was asking how any of this had happened. Why Blink would have let it happen.

"My bein' here ain't safe no more," he said carefully, keeping his voice low.

_Say it, Blink, just say it. It ain't safe here no more because I found you out. And the moment anyone else finds out, you're as good as dead_, Race felt like telling him. There was really no other option for him but to leave, he knew it and Race knew it. But there had to be another option. He couldn't just leave, he couldn't just walk out on them.

"Maybe you should talk to Jack first, he's got a way of figurin' out-"

"No," Blink told him definitively, loud enough that it had caught the attention of those close enough to hear it and halted their conversations. Blink glanced to the faces that watched them, becoming conscious of the forming audience. He looked away as he met Mush's questioning gaze. He had wanted to leave unnoticed, it would have been easier for everyone.

"No," he repeated with whispered intensity as he pulled Race to the side. "It don't got nothin' to do with anyone but me."

As Blink spoke, Race could recognize him. He could feel the familiar way of his words, the way he tried to draw the trouble around him into himself. For a second, he saw again the way Blink was, the old Blink that he thought was gone.

"Then at least let me help you." Race couldn't understand why he wouldn't trust them. What would cause him to abandon everything without so much as a word of explanation?

"No. Race, I said stay out of it," he said with finality, his patience running thin. "Now are you gonna, or do I gotta make ya?" His voice turned a tinge threatening.

Race fell silent, that remark stung as much as if Blink had punched him right there. He searched Blink's face, trying to see if he meant it. He needed to know if this would be it, if this would be how they parted ways. But Blink's expression was unwavering and showed nothing. There was only one way he could know.

"Make me," Race dared.

"Mush," Dutchy warned him, starting to get up from his seat. Mush shook his head and held out his hand, signaling he should stay put. There was no way it would get out of hand. Race and Blink had been angry with each other before, but they always knew when to leave it and cool off.

Blink met Race's glare, his eyes flickering for a split second before his fist connected with Race's jaw.

Race staggered back and put his hand to his mouth. Blood coated his fingers and dripped from his lip, though he didn't register it for a few moments.

His eyes fell to the room. Their mouths were moving, but he couldn't hear what they were saying, only the throbbing in his head. He saw Mush pushing through the others toward them, an odd look on his face. He hadn't ever seen Mush look like that, it was a mixture of disbelief and distress that seemed out of place on his features. As he looked back down to his hand, he absently wondered what had happened to make Mush feel that way.

Staring at the red traces on his fingertips, a copper taste filled his mouth. It was then that he knew that Blink had actually done it. He steadied himself as he shook off the initial shock of the blow and the reality came rushing back to him. He narrowed his eyes, turning to face Blink.

A sudden impulse of rage filled his lungs as he drew in a deep breath. After all he had done for Blink, after all they had been through: this is what he got. Well, if Blink wanted a fight he would get one. Blink would see why nobody dare cheat him.

_Nice knowin' ya, Blink_, he seethed to himself as he pulled back his fist and released his anger into Blink's chest.

* * *


	7. An Alliance Saved is an Alliance Earned

Jack was grateful to hear a pair of footsteps behind him as he crossed the large room. For the most part, Spot's bark was worse than his bite, though few needed any more than a warning from him.

There was a small side room on the far end of the downstairs that had probably been intended for storage, but with a lack of possessions to store, they had left it empty for the most part. He opened the door and waited for Spot to pass him before closing it behind them. It was really the only place in the house that you could pretend you were alone, though the thin walls could never block out the sounds of the street and the ever-present conversations of whoever was nearby.

Jack waited for Spot to sit down first. There were only two chairs in the room, but still gave him the opportunity of first choice. He left the door slightly open before he moved to sit, allowing what little air there was to circulate between the rooms.

"I hear you been doin' good over the past few weeks," Jack said, taking the other chair.

"We got deals with the papers, you know that," Spot said as he pulled his hat off and dropped it to the floor on top of his cane. "You should look into gettin' some of your own," he added.

His words were relaxed, lacking the aloof confidence he had displayed only moments ago. Instead of staring through Jack indifferently, he was meeting his eyes without the element of confrontation. Jack wouldn't exactly call it friendly, there was always a distant quality to Spot's personality, but it was as close to friendly as Spot got. He had seen this side of Spot in very few places, usually when no one else was around. Over the years, Jack had become accustomed to the shifts in his behavior and took them in stride, knowing Spot's reputation was more important to him than any friendship.

"Nah, it gets complicated," Jack dismissed the idea with a frown.

"Money ain't complicated, Jacky," Spot returned as he leaned forward momentarily to fish a cigarette from his back pocket.

"You got another one of those?" Jack nodded to the cigarette as Spot struck a match against the armrest.

"Things been that bad?" he asked with faint curiosity as he lit the end.

"Nah, I just know you're good for it, Spotty," Jack changed the subject with calculated ease.

"Don't call me that," Spot responded automatically as he found another cigarette, forgetting about Jack's money problems for the moment, which was no doubt the point.

Nobody called him that anymore, except for Jack. But he put up with a lot from him that he would soak anyone else for. Spot said it was "the privilege of being in his good graces," whatever the hell that meant. Jack hadn't called him that name in a good year. Being shoved off the pier the last time he tried was as good a deterrent as any. Of course, he had been rather drunk at the time and had decided to inform all of Brooklyn to Spot's least favorite nickname at the top of his lungs. Spot hadn't talked to Jack for weeks after that, or, more specifically, Jack hadn't dared to go near him.

"You call me whatever the hell you want," Jack pointed out.

"That's different." Spot lit the cigarette with the burning end of his own and handed it to Jack.

"Yeah? How's that, Spotty?" Jack stressed the last word with exaggerated innocence as soon as the cigarette was safely in his fingers. He liked to keep Spot on his toes and he got the feeling that was why Spot kept him around.

"You really don't fear dyin' do ya?" Spot raised an amused eyebrow.

"I'm feelin' lucky today," Jack said with a half-smile, seeing Spot wasn't annoyed and feeling all the luckier for it.

"No matter how lucky you may be, Jack, you call me that again and you'll end up in the bottom of the East River."

Jack didn't hide his smile. Spot had been threatening him with that for the past three years and so far he had only come partially close to fulfilling it.

"So what brings you outta Brooklyn, Spot? Haven't seen ya in a couple a months," Jack kept his tone light, almost conversational. He knew exactly why Spot was there, and it wasn't to chat. It was Spot's deal that was on the table and he would have to bring it up, Jack was just informing him that he was ready to listen.

"You know what I want," Spot returned with the same casualness as he picked a stray piece of ash from his shirt.

"You already got it."

"I know I do, Jacky." He exhaled the smoke into the air above him and let it drift down. "I know I do."

"Then why'd you come?"

"I wanted to make sure yous know what you're getting' into."

"I got ears," Jack reminded him. Spot wasn't the only one that valued keeping informants on the streets, though Jack's were far less organized that his. With something as big a Box Greene returning to town, it wasn't easy to miss.

"What do they tell ya?"

"Greene's lookin' to settle a few scores, put himself back on top." Jack shrugged.

Any kid with half a brain knew that. They also knew that Greene had fixed his attention on Brooklyn, a situation that forced Spot to find allies quickly. Many had refused, including Queens surprisingly enough, saying they didn't believe it was really Greene. They claimed it was a rumor Spot was spreading to consolidate power, which was actually a pretty smart plan if it was true. But they all had the same response, which seemed to say that if they weren't talking to Spot, they were talking to each other…or someone willing to feed them an excuse for staying out of it. He preferred not to imagine that. He knew if it was anyone, it would be Greene himself. It would mean they were in deeper than he thought and on very shaky ground.

"Any idea who he's goin' after?" Spot asked.

"Pulitzer," Jack responded quickly, paying little attention to his sarcastic tone. He knew Spot had some kind of information and he didn't feel like jumping through hoops to get it.

"Wrong, Jack," Spot cut through Jack's sarcasm sharply. "He's goin' after you."

"What?" Jack sat up, taken off guard. "I never even met this guy." He had expected to be a peripheral part of the equation, supporting Brooklyn when the bigger fights came. He had no desire to go up against Greene directly.

"It don't matter, Jack. By standin' with me, you're putting yourself in his way. He will come after you and any kid that even looks at you twice. Understand?" Spot was warning him and that alone unnerved him. "He don't just fight, he thinks and he'll think of any way he can to knock you down. Once you're down, you'll never get up."

Spot let his words sink into Jack's skin before he continued.

"Knowin' that, I'm gonna ask yous again. If you say no, it'll stay in this room, you got my word on it."

Spot had never given him an out before. This wasn't going to be a simple territory dispute. However, he wasn't about to back down because the fire was getting hotter.

"I'm with you, Spot," Jack reaffirmed without hesitation.

A certain weight lifted from his Spot's expression as he nodded and held out his hand. Jack leaned forward and shook it once before sitting back again. With that simple gesture, Manhattan and Brooklyn had united. It had been an unspoken alliance before, but on a matter of this importance it had to be declared. They would stand together, with their fates now resting in each other's hands.

"So why don't we just take'im out?" Jack offered the simplest solution to their common problem. In times past, that had been the easiest way to make a thorn go away. It avoided the bloodshed of a street brawl and took care of the situation quietly. He had always thought that the fight that Greene supposedly died in was just an attempt gone wrong. If they were going to try one of their own, they would have to do it soon before he got any more support or territory.

"He don't let people that close," Spot said, giving off the impression he had already exhausted that avenue.

"How do you know, maybe he ain't as careful as you think."

"Trust me on it. I used to run with him awhile back," Spot answered, putting an end to any question of his authority in the matter.

Jack shook his head slowly with only the smallest trace of disbelief. Spot never ceased to surprise him. He was somehow connected to most of what went on in the city and Jack should have at least guessed he was involved in this as well.

"Don't tell me, you were the one that made 'im disappear," Jack said half-jokingly. He wouldn't have put it past him, from what he could tell Spot had been considerably more violent when he was younger.

"Would you believe me if I said I was?" Spot tilted his head to the side and regarded Jack thoughtfully.

Jack often got the impression that Spot was testing him in some way, seeing if he could figure out what was truth and what was lie about him. Of course, Spot had never offered much information about himself. He seemed to like watching Jack slowly put the pieces together, however incorrectly he managed to arrange them.

Jack studied Spot for a brief moment, his expression was blank, not offering any hint to the answer. It would go a long way to explain why Greene had been fixed on Brooklyn. But, he knew if Spot was involved, Greene wouldn't have survived.

"Nah," Jack answered finally.

"Good." He nodded in approval, a smile curling around the smoke he exhaled. "I didn't have nothin' to do with it."

"I don't believe that, you always got something to do with everythin'," Jack said. Spot's widening smile told him that he indeed had something to do with it, however small. The fact that Spot claimed Brooklyn so soon after Greene fell couldn't be coincidence.

"Why are you so high up on his list anyhow?" Jack asked more directly than he intended. What he really wanted to know was if Greene had it out for him for business reasons or if it was personal. Taking on Brooklyn because it was the biggest and wealthiest territory was far different than taking on Brooklyn because it represented Spot Conlon.

"You know how it is," Spot replied vaguely.

"No, I don't," Jack countered, his curiosity rising. "You sleep with his sister?"

"He ain't got one."

"What, his dog?"

"He ain't got one of them neither," Spot smirked before putting his cigarette to his lips again.

"Seriously." Jack laughed, more amused to find Spot in a joking mood than anything else. It was an uncharacteristic lightness, one that would probably disappear as fast as it came. His moods turned on a dime. He could be indifferent one moment and full of rage the next, though over the years Jack had come to realize that it was mostly for the benefit of others. There was much to Spot that was an act, a calculated one, but an act all the same.

"He didn't, I swear to God."

"Spot, " Jack prompted him. Spot knew what he wanted to know, he was just being an ass about it.

"Jack," Spot imitated his expectant tone, clearly not intending to answer.

"Fine, don't tell me. I don't wanna know," Jack sighed. It wasn't important. He didn't know why he even expected Spot to give a reliable answer.

"So what are we doin' about him?" Jack asked, knowing he would get an answer to that question at least.

"I'm workin' on something', but it'll take time. Right now we just gotta wait," Spot said as he ground out the stub on the armrest of his chair. Spot usually put out his cigarette when he was done talking or wanted to close a subject. It was another one of his signals that Jack had learned to read over time. He never just did something, it always had some sort of meaning or was intended to be seen a certain way.

"Yeah, okay," Jack said as he stood, grounding out the last of his cigarette as well. "There's a card game goin' on out back."

"We ain't done, Jack," Spot said as he made no move to follow. There was no trace of his former humor, his voice was back to business, though it betrayed a measure of reservation.

"What else we gotta talk about?" He stopped short of the door, the tone of Spot's voice stopping him rather than the words. It wasn't the sudden seriousness that bothered him, he had expected that to come back, but it was hint of uncertainty.

"Why don't ya sit down," Spot nodded to now-empty chair.

"Nah," Jack refused with a questioning expression, "Say what you gotta say."

The silence that followed only put him more on edge.

"So, Spot, what's the story?" he tried again more insistently, as his mind tried to figure out what Spot was holding back.

Spot took his time before he responded. He pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit it as he made himself comfortable. "You wanna close that," he gestured to the door of the small side room.

Jack stepped sideways and pushed it closed with more force than was necessary, signaling his impatience that Spot just wouldn't get on with whatever he had to say. Spot had a habit of speaking only when he wanted to, something Jack could normally overlook, except when it so clearly involved him.

Spot hesitated for a moment, deliberately looking away from him as he began to speak. Jack found that slightly odd, Spot was never one to appear uncomfortable. "I got some bad news."

"What? Did you lose some in the fight last night-"

"One of your boys has been talkin', Jack."

"What did you just say?" Jack returned sharply, his voice a mixture of disbelief and anger.

"Look, I'm just letting you know what I know." Spot attempted to calm the situation, misinterpreting Jack's shock as offense. If anyone ever dare tell him his business like that, he would have knocked him down in the time it took him to close his mouth.

"No, ya see I could have sworn that you just told me one of my boys has been talkin'. Is that right, Spot? Are you telling me one of me own boys is a rat?"

There was no question in what Spot meant by his words. He believed there was a traitor among them, something Jack couldn't believe. Spot had, in one sentence, insulted everything and everyone that had set foot in that house. He had pointed out weakness, disloyalty. The thought was unimaginable to Jack, so much so that he looked at Spot as if determining whether or not he had lost his sanity.

"Yeah, that's what I'm sayin," Spot responded as he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette.

"Then I hope to God you got somethin' to share that ain't just some rumor goin' around the bridge."

"'Course, you think I'd make something like this up?"

"I'm listenin'." Jack turned away abruptly. As far as he was concerned there was nothing Spot could say that would convince him.

"My boys was out last night. They broke up a bunch of Box's rats meetin' just outside your territory. Most of them ran east, but one of them headed into Manhattan, toward your house. They followed him most of the way."

Jack crossed his arms, not knowing what else to do with them. Spot must be wrong, his boys must have been wrong. They had always been uneasy with Spot and him allying, maybe they were just trying to come up with a reason to make Spot mistrust what strength could come from Manhattan. But they wouldn't mess with something this big, no one would. It wasn't something you just didn't touch. Accusing someone of being a traitor was a good way for that someone to end up dead.

"Jack." Spot pulled him out of his silent thought. He wanted a name.

"They see who it was?" Jack asked, trying to recall if anyone hadn't been back in a few days or was beat up more than usual.

Part of him knew that even if Spot had a name, he wouldn't take matters into his own hands. Even though they were fighting against the same enemy and he was at just as much risk as Jack was by a potential leak, he knew his boundaries.

"You don't know?" Spot narrowed his eyes slightly. Jack felt the silent accusation as Spot watched him carefully. He knew it wouldn't speak well for him if he hadn't picked up on something so dangerous.

"I got my ideas," Jack lied. "I'm just seein' if your information is worth anythin'."

"Yeah, alright." Spot relaxed, accepting the answer as truth. "They didn't see who it was, it was too dark. But they did say they got off a few swings, so maybe your kid has a few scrapes."

Jack nodded, at least that was something to go on.

Something to go on? God, he couldn't believe he was listening to this. He couldn't believe that he was even entertaining the thought. It was a rumor some drunk bums from Brooklyn were passing along as truth because they didn't know which side of the bridge they were on. Spot was wrong and that was the end of it.

But it couldn't be the end. He couldn't ignore it, even if he didn't want to believe it. As much as he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind, he knew the possibility was there.

There wasn't anyone in the house he didn't trust. Well, at least enough not to go running to the one person that wasn't afraid of taking on both Manhattan and Brooklyn at once. Maybe that trust was misplaced. Maybe he had taken for granted that what he saw on the surface was the truth.

Whoever it was, they needed to be found quickly... and dealt with. There could be no excuses. The act was inexcusable.

One of the faces that smiled so openly was stabbing him in the back, and probably with that same stupid grin. As he thought about it more, the pit in his stomach deepened and so did the anger. One that he had trusted, one that they all had trusted, had turned against them. And that is what made the situation all the more disappointing, it was one of theirs, one that they knew.

Apparently, they didn't know one person among them as well as they believed.

As his thoughts boiled inside of him, Jack became increasingly aware of the silence surrounding him. He could hear the rhythm of Spot's breathing and the creaking of the wood underneath his feet, but that was it. There was no noise coming from the other side of the door. No talking, no laughing, no yelling . . . nothing to indicate the presence of a few dozen boys just in the next room. He looked toward the door with suspicion. Something wasn't right.

"What?" Spot went on guard instantly, following Jack's quick movement.

Jack didn't answer, but kept listening. All at once the odd calm erupted into a fevered pitch, but it wasn't the normal jumble. The voices were all yelling. He heard the scuffing of wood across the floor, chairs were being pushed out of the way for some reason. The yelling rose all at once, seeming to be affected by a common interest. A fight.

You heard one, you heard them all. Why was he not surprised.

"I swear to God, Spot." Jack flashed him an irritated look, not even bothering to finish the thought as he reached for the door. Damn Brooklyn. They couldn't go for five minutes without getting into it with someone. They were more trouble than they were worth.

"It ain't mine fightin', I guarantee that." Spot took in a last drag off his cigarette before throwing it to the floor as he stood.

Maybe it was the assurance in Spot's voice that set him off, or maybe it was the fact that he sounded like nothing had just happened, that accusing Jack's of being traitors was just another paper sold.

"Why, cause you told 'em not to?" Jack's tone became hard, as he turned sharply to Spot. "Maybe you shouldn't trust them bein' honest with you. Maybe you don't got what you think you got."

"I'll pretend you didn't say that, Kelly," Spot replied coolly as he met Jack's glare evenly.

In no uncertain terms Jack was referring to the power Spot held and the respect that his boys attributed to him. It was a dangerous thing to say, but he didn't care. Spot believed so much in the control he had, nothing short of a knife in his chest could faze him. Spot thought Brooklyn was infallible, that he was infallible. Jack saw the flaws. They didn't follow Spot as blindly as most thought. He knew it and Spot knew it. He didn't trust them and couldn't figure out for the life of him why Spot did.

But Spot was smart; he didn't jump down Jack's throat for a cheap shot. He knew it was more important to preserve the alliance that was just made than to defend himself to Jack.

Jack had a trust in his boys that Spot never had with his. If he accused one of Spot's of talking, Spot would have gotten rid of the kid without a second thought. Jack couldn't do that, if he believed Spot he would have to accept that he had been putting his trust in something false. Friendship complicated things that were otherwise very simple.

Jack looked back to the door and turned the handle. He had spoken too fast, letting his anger at the situation take over.

"I wouldn't have brung it up if I didn't know for sure," Spot said, picking up on the slight regret. "This ain't about my boys and it ain't about me. You got a problem on your hands, and you gotta fix it."

"I'll fix it," Jack said quickly, not waiting for a response as he flung the door open.

* * *

_

* * *

A/n: All caught up! I originally wrote this story around that one piece of dialogue between Spot and Jack, so I thought it would be fitting to post it first and then place it within the story. I hope it wasn't repetitious and that it flowed all right._

Thank you to all who reviewed! The reviews are so greatly appreciated!


	8. Reality Ain't Pretty

Jack weaved through the packed bodies that had formed a circle around the action. Their attention was bent on the disruption in the middle, hardly noticing as he pushed past them roughly. The heat and the haze of smoke that hung in the air was stirred by the sudden rush of activity and seemed only to fuel the fervor. The volume was overwhelming and filled the room to its height. Yelling and shouts of encouragement were thrown back and forth from every angle, yet he saw some faces that were not cheering, instead remaining quiet. He thought that slightly odd. Last time he checked, Brooklyn didn't have any friends on this side of the Bridge.

He shoved a stray elbow out of his path and broke through to the center, his eyes automatically sweeping the floor first. No broken furniture. That was a relief, an expense like that would have put more than a few of them back on the street, including himself. Bruises would heal, debt didn't.

He felt Spot at his shoulder, never one to miss a good fight. It took him a moment to figure out who was fighting who, the amount of people that were trying to stop what was going on seemed to outnumber the actual combatants. It was a tangle of limbs and a confusion of tensions. Mush was in the middle of it, pulling Blink off of someone, that much didn't surprise him. Dutchy was pushing Race back, while Skittery worked his jaw gingerly, obviously being hit by someone. But try as he might, Jack couldn't find a single Brooklyn face among them.

Any lingering question in his mind was removed as Blink suddenly wrenched himself from Mush and threw a punch directly at Race. It landed with more strength than accuracy, catching Race on his shoulder. Race was thrown back from the force of the blow, hitting his head hard as he fell against the floor.

"Told ya." He could hear Spot smiling without even looking at him. It was that annoying gloating tone; no doubt he was reveling in the fact that he was right. True enough, Jack saw both of the Brooklyn boys in the crowd of onlookers thoroughly involved in the unexpected diversion.

Blink didn't have time to get in another swing, Mush and Dutchy were on him in an instant. He gave a frustrated grimace as he felt his arms being twisted uselessly behind him. He tried to shake them off, but they were careful not to give him room to do anything more than exhaust himself. It was their instinct to go straight for Blink, to keep his anger contained until he calmed down enough to see reason again. But in doing so, they left Race wide open. Blink had nowhere to go and Race had all the room he could want.

Race found his way to his feet, shaking his head quickly to clear it as he put his fists up again. As Blink's attention jumped to Mush, he turned his head to the side, exposing his blind side for an instant. It was a cheap shot, but Race took advantage of it with a quick right hook. Blink never saw it coming, but Mush did. He tried to pull Blink away in time, but it was too fast and caught Blink squarely on the side of his face.

Race could feel a pain surge in his hand as his knuckles connected with the bone of Blink's cheek and the edge of his eye patch cut into his skin. He put it to the back of his mind, knowing whatever he was feeling, Blink was feeling ten times worse. When you were in a fight you couldn't think of anything else but winning. The pain, fair play, anything that could distract you, had to be forgotten. But this wasn't just another fight for him.

"Christ, Race," Mush breathed, giving him a foul look as he tried to kept Blink on his feet.

Race stood with cold eyes, watching Blink's head sink down against his chest and his knees weaken. If Mush hadn't been holding him, he would have fallen. It would have been over then. Once you fell, you didn't get up.

He didn't let Mush affect him. He knew what he did was low, but this wasn't self-defense, this wasn't teaching some little cheat; it was betrayal, hurt, and anger unleashed upon the cause. There wasn't reason, there wasn't a concept of fairness in his mind, only revenge. He was avenging himself for having trusted Blink.

Race waited. His other fist clenched, ready to hit Blink again the moment he recovered. If Blink was a passionate fighter, Race was a calculating one. He didn't throw wild punches at any opportunity, he bided his time, waiting until the moment a hit would have the maximum effect. He had learned to be quick and smart in a city full of the strong that were usually bigger than him.

"Race, just stay back," Mush saw him tensing, but wasn't about to let Blink go.

Race didn't make any indication he heard, taking a step closer. He pulled his fist back as Blink lifted his head. Mush turned Blink away as much as he could, trying to protect Blink and put himself between them. Dutchy tried to reach Race, but he wouldn't get to him in time.

Jack had seen enough. Anticipating what Race was going to do next, he moved out into the middle and caught Race's arm just as it was about to strike. He twisted his arm behind him in one quick movement and dragged him back before he had a chance to react.

"What happened?" Jack asked over his shoulder to Mush, trying to filter out the surge of yelling.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Mush called back as he pulled Blink back. "They just started goin' at each other."

"Yeah?" Jack said more to himself, still not quite believing it, even though he saw it with his own eyes. Race and Blink fighting was one step up from seeing the Delancy brothers help an old lady across the street. It just didn't happen. "Blink start it?"

"Yeah," Mush nodded.

At least that was one thing that made sense.

"Hey, Skittery, you wanna make yourself useful over here?" Jack called over his shoulder, as he held on to Race with almost all of his strength. He made sure Skittery had a good enough hold on him before letting go.

"Keep' im back," Jack told him. Skittery nodded in understanding as he forced Race back toward the wall, as far from Blink as he could get.

What was going on? Even with four people and ten feet separating them, they were still trying to get at each other. They weren't just playing around, far from it. He couldn't begin to make sense of it. They had been through years of life on the street together and had never once found a reason to turn on each other.

"That's enough!" Jack's voice rang out in the room, commanding instant authority. His eyes swept the sea of faces, glaring at anyone that dare meet his eyes. The room fell mostly silent, with only a few hushed whispers daring to be uttered. Satisfied, he turned his severe expression on Blink and Race. Whatever happened, he wasn't going to stand for it.

"You're done. Both of yous, cool it," Jack said to both of them, but directed it more towards Blink who had recovered somewhat and was still trying to writhe free of both Mush and Dutchy. Blink was the more unpredictable of the two and he wouldn't quit just because Jack told him to. In fact, he usually wouldn't quit unless he had won or was face down on the ground, but Jack wasn't about to let either happen.

"Cool it!" Jack yelled again toward Blink threateningly. It wasn't a suggestion and his eyes communicated that point as he stared Blink down. Blink grudging followed the direction, though he remained tense, waiting for any opportunity Mush would give him.

Race, on the other hand, didn't even try to get past Skittery after a few initial attempts. He caught his breath slowly and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth before spitting a bit of blood to the floor. He knew there was no way he would get his hands on Blink now that Jack was involved. If Blink had wanted to start a fight, this was the last place to do it. There was an unspoken rule that you settled your business outside; anyone who broke it would risk being thrown out. It was almost as if Blink wanted someone to break it up.

But even though he couldn't fight Blink, he wasn't through. If he couldn't get his hands on him, he knew his words would reach him. He resorted to the last thing he could. If he had been thinking, he wouldn't have said it. Spot was there; Jack was there. If they found any truth in what he said, it would be the end for Blink.

But as their eyes met, Race was reminded of everything that was lost. He forgot Spot was there, he forgot Jack was there. He forgot every other person in the room was there except for him and Blink. Out of his mouth came all the resentment his fists couldn't express.

"You ain't nuthin' but a fuckin' scab!" Race yelled past Skittery, his eyes trained dangerously on Blink.

"That's enough." Jack turned to Race with a warning finger. His stomach had tightened slightly at the implication of Race's words, though he kept it from his face. They were mad at each other, bound to say things they didn't mean.

"Watch what you're sayin', Race," he heard Skittery say under his breath as tightened his grip on Race's shirt.

"What? That's what he is," Race continued with a venomous indifference to the gravity of his words. "Nothin' but a lousy fuck of a rat."

"I said that's enough!" Jack cut him off as he stepped in between them, blocking them from each other's sight. He could see them feeding off and fueling the other's anger more, now that they couldn't get their hands on one another.

Race ignored Jack. "Tell'em, Blink. Tell'em who you been talkin' to, ya scab."

Jack could feel Spot's eyes on him, any trace of amusement gone. Jack didn't look at him, or make any acknowledgment that he understood what Race meant, it would only have confirmed for Spot what he was all too ready to believe.

Instead, Jack looked to Blink cautiously. No one else took Race's insults as anything more than angry words mean to get a reaction, but Jack took them quite differently. There was no way he couldn't.

He had noticed Blink was a little beat up that morning while they were getting dressed. Blink joked it off, saying he had been watching the girls and not the street. But the street didn't make bruises in the shape of fists, no matter which way you fell. He couldn't ignore it, it was too close a fit. Brooklyn had been out the night before and got their hands on one of his and now Race was calling his best friend a scab.

Blink didn't deny Race's words or throw back a similar accusation in the heat of the moment, he only glanced to Jack briefly as he set his jaw. That silence spoke more to Jack than anything Race could say. It couldn't be...not Blink.

"You wanna say that again?" Blink finally responded to Race, grimacing as Mush twisted his arm in a not so subtle reminder to keep cool. Mush knew him too well, and knew he wouldn't be satisfied to keep it at words.

"Yeah, that's right. Now I see for what you really is, a lyin' rat."

"Oh yeah?" Blink shot back, his temper flaring again.

"Blink, no. Just forget about it," Mush tried to calm him though clenched teeth as he struggled to keep his grip.

"Yeah, what are ya gonna do about it?" Race taunted him with a laugh.

"Race, shut it or you're out," Jack warned him again. He needed to maintain order and defuse this before it got a chance to reheat. Whether Race was right or wrong, this needed to end.

Mush felt Blink's muscles tensing, building strength as his and Race's stares locked in a tense silence. In a sudden burst of anger, Blink threw him off and made an impulsive move toward Race.

"Jack, watch it," Mush called out in warning.

Jack turned just in time to catch Blink before he could get within reach of Race. "It's over, Kid. Take it easy, it's over."

"Get off me, Jack," Blink said toward Race's provoking smile as he tried to push past him.

"Nah, that ain't gonna happen," Jack said as calmly as he could, putting all his weight against him. "So why don't ya just cool it, okay?"

Blink ignored Jack as his arm found the room to swing out. Like hell he was going to cool it. He didn't have the space or the leverage to aim properly though, and Jack dodged the blow easily. Reflexively, Jack returned the favor, though he was careful to control the strength of his hit. He struck Blink with just enough force to throw him off guard for the few moments it took Mush to get a hold of him again. He looked pretty bad as it was and Jack didn't want to hurt him if he could help it.

"You got 'im this time?" Jack asked as Mush locked an arm around Blink's neck solidly.

"Yeah, he ain't goin' nowhere." Mush dragged him back again.

"You try somethin' like that again, and I'm gonna be the one soakin' ya. Understand?" Jack said to Blink in no uncertain terms. He had taken all he could already without being swung at. Blink didn't respond.

"What's da matter with you? You deaf or somethin'?" Jack asked with as much ridicule as he dared. He wanted Blink to stop thinking about Race, and if it was the easiest way, he would more than willingly make himself the target. As he had hoped, Blink tore his attention away from Race and confronted him with an acidic glare.

"I ain't deaf."

"Good, so shut up and listen." Jack turned away, speaking equally to Race, "I don't care what happened. You do not bring your shit in here."

He spoke the obvious. They knew they were supposed to keep any disputes out in the street. They knew better than to even think about soaking each other, what's worse they did it in front of everyone. As much as they chose to forget it, they were examples to the younger kids and the newcomers. They were his friends, yes, but he had to treat them like he would anyone else. God, Spot was wearing off on him too much.

Not getting a reaction from either one of them, he took it as assent and moved on. The fight was over, they needed to cool down and prolonging it in front of everyone wouldn't help.

"You got a problem with him, Race?" Jack asked. He knew nothing between them had been resolved, but he didn't care. That was for them to deal with, he just had to make sure they didn't take down half the house doing it.

"No, I don't gotta problem," Race looked away, barely veiling the sarcasm.

"You gotta problem, Race?" Jack repeated, indicating he wasn't satisfied. He didn't expect them to believe it, just say it for the benefit of everyone else.

"No, no problem," Race answered again keeping his voice blank. The quicker he said it, the quicker it would be over.

"Blink, you got a problem with him?" Jack turned to Blink.

"No, I ain't gotta problem," Blink answered with the same amount of forced indifference.

"Good." Jack relaxed only slightly. "It's over. I don't wanna see it again."

"Race, upstairs. Blink, take a walk." Jack nodded to the door. "Mush let'im go."

Mush gave him a questioning look, but let go hesitantly.

"What?" Blink protested. Race was just as much a part of it as he was. If he got thrown out, he saw no reason why Race should get the benefit of a bed.

"I said get out," Jack said with no amount of compromise. "You threw the first punch, you get the honors."

Blink scoffed under his breath as he glowered at Race. He pushed Mush away from him and turned abruptly toward the door, walking out without another word or glance.

"Jack..." Race started. Jack couldn't let Blink walk out, he would be letting him walk right back to Greene.

Jack turned to Race with clear annoyance. "Are you still here?"

He had heard just about enough from Race and didn't feel like being questioned.

"Nah." Race's expression turned hard again. "I'm gone."

Race didn't make a move to comply, meeting Jack's fixed stare with even intensity. There was nothing keeping him there. He could walk out if he chose. He was angry, no question about that, and the last thing he needed was to be given orders from anyone.

"Come on," Mush broke the mounting tension as soon as he saw it. "Leave it." He knew that if Race and Blink could get into it, there was nothing keeping Race and Jack apart.

"Leave it, Race," Jack warned, being the first to look away. He saw anger in Race's eyes he had never been the object of before and didn't want to test it.

"Come on," Mush prompted him again as Race broke his glare. Wordlessly, he pushed past Skittery and found his way to the stairs. The other boys divided, clearing out of his way as he passed. His steps were the only noise in the room as all eyes followed him. Jack watched him disappear up the creaking steps with a measure of relief.

As the footsteps faded, he took a breath and regarded the room wearily. What had happened in the space of ten minutes had drained him far more than the entire day had. He needed time to think. He needed to figure out his options, see what truth there what Race said. But it was Blink they were talking about. Even if he saw him at Greene's right hand, he still wouldn't believe him capable of betrayal. They had been through too much together.

As he took in the room, his eyes absently met Spot's, something he had tried to avoid thusfar. He looked away quickly, not wanting to give Spot a chance to read him. He could tell his face looked drawn and heavy with the weight of something pulling on his mind and he knew Spot was well aware of what that something was.

"Show's over, break it up," Jack barked as he shoved past those who weren't fast enough to get out of his way. He needed to be alone. He moved past Spot without a word and Spot made no move to stop him. He didn't wait to see if his directive was followed, storming back across the floor into the side room with a resounding slam of the door.

Spot had stayed silent and had never emerged from the mass. He watched as Jack ignored information from one of his more trusted boys. He watched as Jack let an accused traitor walk out without anything more than a slap on the wrist. Jack had his chance to take care of it. He did what Spot thought he would, he crumbled under the weight of balancing his duty with friendship. Well, if Jack wouldn't face reality, he would. And when it was over, Jack would thank him for it.

Spot met the eyes of his boys with purposeful intent. In the milling activity of the evening returning to normal, nobody noticed as he nodded to the door. Nobody noticed as the two slipped out into the darkness after Blink.

Returning his attention back to the room, Spot looked to where Jack had disappeared. He wasn't avoiding the problem, he was thinking, that much Spot knew. But Spot also knew that a situation like this required action not thought. He would act, without hesitation he would act. All he had to do was make sure Jack didn't get in his way.

* * *


	9. Worth

Jack slammed the door behind him with enough force to rattle the hinges. Kloppman would be at him for that, no doubt. He had threatened to take down all the doors if they didn't stop slamming them, and if he was anywhere within three blocks, he would have heard the latest transgression.

He paced back and forth in the small room, only being able to make two full strides before turning around again. He had to do something, he just couldn't stay still.

None of his was a rat, he told himself definitively and with a finality that should have closed the matter.

But a tugging feeling kept him from being as certain as his words sounded. What if it was true? He sat down slowly, going over what had happened again and again, trying to make sense of it. It didn't make sense though, no matter which way he put it together.

Race and Blink going at each other was something he was willing to accept, everybody had an off day now and then. But Race going so far as to call Blink a scab. . . in front of everyone with no regret and a hell of a lot of conviction. It just didn't sit well with Jack. He knew Race and Race wouldn't do that, not to Blink of all people.

He knew Blink as well. Or, he thought he did up until now. But there had been something off about him for the past few days. Something he hadn't been able to explain.

Blink didn't even try to defend himself. How was he supposed to defend Blink if he wouldn't do it himself?

It was just too much to deal with. Jack closed his eyes and let his head fall to the back of the chair.

A few moments later, the iron knob of the door creaked loudly as it was turned. He couldn't even think in peace anymore. Why couldn't everyone just solve their own problems?

Jack didn't look up to see who it was, he didn't have to. It was Spot. He was the only one that would have entered without giving the courtesy of a knock. He walked around like he owned the joint and no doubt he probably thought he could if he wanted to.

Jack sat up and rubbed the dullness from his eyes. He didn't want to deal with Spot, but knew it was inevitable. He just hoped he could get through it without decking him. Spot would jump at the chance to remind Jack how vulnerable he was, though he wouldn't say it. A look or a smile was all he needed to get under Jack's skin.

Spot opened the door without bothering to close it behind him as he walked in. He nodded to Jack wordlessly and bent down to pick up his hat and cane.

"If ya don't hear from me in of couple days, send someone over," he said in the way of a goodbye as he stood.

"Where you goin'?" Jack asked with slight suspicion, following him with his eyes as he moved back to the door. Spot never made anything that easy.

"I gotta take care of somethin," he replied simply as he pulled on his hat.

"What do ya gotta-" Jack started absently, wondering what would be so urgent. He fell silent as his mind answered it for him. He looked over to Spot quickly, catching him before he got out the door.

"Spot." Jack stopped him, the word sounding harsher to his ears than he intended.

Spot stopped but didn't turn his head, "What?"

"Don't touch 'im."

Spot didn't answer.

"I want your word on it," Jack insisted as he rose from his chair. His voice was quietly demanding, Spot's silence telling him they were very much on the same page.

Spot's clear eyes finally turned to Jack, hiding nothing. It was then Jack knew Spot had every intention of taking care of Blink without so much as telling him. Jack set his jaw as he fought the rising anger in his throat. The bastard. The lousy bastard.

"I can't do that," Spot replied matter-of-factly with out the slightest bit of hesitation.

So it was true, he didn't even have the decency to lie about it. The kid had balls, Jack would give him that. Spot had gone too far already by assuming he had any right to Blink. This was Manhattan's business and Spot was messing with it. Jack would be damned if he let him get away with it.

"Give me your word, Spot," Jack repeated, the edge in his voice even more pronounced as he took a step forward. There was a desperation creeping into his words that he could feel, though he struggled to keep it from showing.

He now realized that he had made the worst decision he could have. Sending Blink out into the street was like sending him out to the wolves. By wanting to distance him from the problem, Jack had distanced him from the only protection he had. He hadn't been thinking. He cursed himself inwardly.

"No," Spot replied, instinctively taking a step toward Jack to meet the challenge in his stance.

They stood within a foot of each other in silent confrontation. It was a harsh silence. Jack stared at Spot, the resentment and anger spilling from his eyes. If he could soak him right then, he would have. But it wasn't that simple and they both were well aware of it.

Though Spot met his eyes evenly, he kept his expression relaxed, almost as if he was waiting for Jack to tire of the whole thing. Even though he knew he had crossed the line, he still thought he could get away with it. Damn lousy bastard. He actually thought he would get away with it.

"You got no right to him and you know that. Until I tell ya different, you're gonna treat 'im like he's one of mine. You got me?" Jack cut into the silent tension that was building between them. He wanted to wipe that look from Spot's face, the one that said he had the right to go after anyone or thing he chose.

"Why Jacky, if I didn't know better, I'd swear you've been growin' a spine," Spot said with more than a note of condescension before he let a small smile escape his lips.

Jack hated that smile. He had seen Spot irrepressibly full of rage and blindly vengeful, but it was when he saw that smile that he felt the most unease. It meant Spot had all the cards and knew who would win the hand.

But Jack wouldn't let him win this one. It was too important. Blink was too important. If Spot got his hands on him…Jack didn't even want to think about it. He knew he had to though, Spot wouldn't give up simply because he was deterred. He would find another way, he always found another way.

"If you or any of your boys even look at him the wrong way, you're on your own," Jack said finally. It was a serious threat and not an idle one. If Spot wanted Manhattan's support, he would have to back off. It was his last card and he had no regrets in throwing it down. It was the only thing Spot was would listen to, there was no way he could ignore it.

Spot's eyes flashed suddenly and almost imperceptibly, but Jack caught it. He had got his attention sure enough. Whether it was in disbelief that he would chose the side of a traitor or the idea that he would so openly challenge him, Jack didn't know. All he needed to know was that Spot wasn't happy.

"You're playin' dangerous, Jack. Dangerous and stupid," Spot returned, his voice finally giving way to a trace of emotion. He spoke with the certainty of one telling a small child that fire will burn. "The minute he steps outta Manhattan, he's mine. And I guarantee I ain't gonna be as friendly to him as I'm bein' to you."

He let his eyes bore into Jack's for a second longer, before he abruptly turned to the door.

Jack expected the door to slam shut, but it didn't. Instead he looked over to see Spot standing in the doorway.

"I can't let this go," Spot said, meeting Jack's eyes for an instant before he walked out.

Spot's words weren't regretful in any proper sense of the word, Jack had never seen Spot genuinely sorry for anything, but this was as close to an apology as he would ever get. He was warning Jack to be ready for what would come when Blink finally left Manhattan.

No matter what kind of relationship he and Jack had, he wouldn't put it before his own safety. Blink had now become a threat to that safety and the safety of everyone that depended on him. Spot wasn't interested in guilt or innocence; they were the same in his eyes until it proved advantageous to treat them differently. It was in Spot's best interest to label Blink guilty and get rid of him.

One way or another, he would draw Blink out. Jack just had to be sure he got to him first.

He listened to Spot walk through the still hushed front room, hearing his feet hit the cobblestones and drifted into the night. It was only then that he left the room himself. If there was one thing that separated them it was Spot's predictability and Jack's lack of it. He knew Spot didn't have a real clue as to how he would react to this and he wanted to use that to his advantage. If Spot knew he was on the move, he would move all the faster himself.

He picked up his hat on his way to the front door, combing his hair back as he slipped it on his head.

What if it was true? That stupid voice returned and would not let itself be ignored. He was rushing to defend Blink, but what if Blink couldn't be defended? As much as he hated himself for the thought, he couldn't push it completely away. There was too much doubt.

Jack slowed before he reached the door, glancing to the stairs. Race would give it to him straight. He would tell him it was just a misunderstanding. Letting his hat fall to his back, Jack impulsively moved to the stairs.

Race would settle it.

* * *

Blink muttered audibly as his feet hit the street. Who did Jack think he was? Throwing him out, at night no less. Not only did he look like hell, but he was a kid, and that was a winning combination to land in jail for two weeks. Vagrancy, loitering, mischief. . . the official reason didn't matter. Looking like he did at night was just asking to be picked up. 

He kicked a stray bottle with a jolt of frustration as he walked along slowly. It was his own fault and he knew it. Underneath the anger was a quiet regret that he wouldn't let surface yet. He knew he was wrong and that knowledge seemed to anger him further. Race only wanted to help him out, and how did he replay that concern? He soaked him. He'd turned away one of the only people that actually gave a damn about him.

He hadn't told Race the truth, hell, he hadn't told him anything. He'd let Race's imagination do the work. Traitor or not, his leaving was for the best. He didn't want to bring anyone else into his trouble. They could think what they wanted about him, but at least they would be safe.

Blink jammed his hands into his pockets and turned the corner. A second later he found himself ducking out of sight from a bull. He stood motionless just inside an alley, waiting for him to walk past. As he came closer, Blink pressed himself flat against the brick and edged his way further into the shadows. At this point, he didn't think he'd be able to make a run for it or get very far if he tried. His head was throbbing and just walking in a strait line was proving to be difficult.

He was too tired to keep going like he been for the past week. Almost a fight a day and not even a bed for his trouble. But he didn't expect things to go his way. They never did.

He edged his way along the wall deeper into the alley until he fell back into a doorway. A few rats darted out, but other than that it looked like nobody had decided to claim it for the night. He took a quick look around, just to be sure, before he moved to sit. It was a good a place as any to sleep.

A stabbing pain in his ribs caused him to straighten up again with a grimace. He'd forgotten about that one. God, Race could punch. He held his side carefully as he tried to find a comfortable way to stand. It was going to be a long night.

The air had a chill to it for the first time in weeks. One that he would be able to relish in all its glory for the whole night, he thought dryly. He'd rather go through five hellish summers than a month of the mildest winter.

The cold was what really got him. He pulled his collar up around his neck and put his hands into his pockets absently. There wasn't even a real change in the air around him, it was almost as stifling as it had been when the sun was out and he was still sweating the same as he had been all week. It didn't matter though, even the idea of the cold was enough to send a familiar shiver down his back

It was just one of those things, he couldn't help it. Some kids slept with their shoes on, one kid wouldn't curse on Sundays, and he couldn't help but shiver even when he was just thinking about the cold. They were little quirks that were joked about but weren't talked about seriously. He didn't need to talk about it, though, he thought about it enough already.

He had been only nine or ten when he was out on his own for the first time. God, had it been that long?

He could still feel the bitter cold of the first nights that he had spent in empty doorways and under park benches. His family had always been poor, but at least they had a stove to burn whatever they could find. That was his job, he was supposed to keep the fire going for his mother to sew by and his father to sleep by.

One night he must not have found enough to keep it going. He awoke with a shiver and saw that the fire had gone out. In the pale moonlight, he saw that his mother had fallen asleep while mending, her needle in mid-stitch. Crawling over to her, he shook her elbow. He knew she would have to finish the work for the morning or risk not getting paid. She didn't wake, though, no matter how hard he shook her.

He thought it was a game, so he laughed, pulling her limp arms around him in a hug. But she didn't move. He cried for her to wake, tugging at her dress, but she didn't stir. He told her that if she loved him she would open her eyes. But they didn't open.

The next day his father left. A dead wife and a half-blind boy wasn't anything worth staying for, he said. Sitting next to his mother, holding her hand in his, Blink watched as his father walked out the door. He didn't even say goodbye.

He thought he had felt cold before, but nothing compared to that first winter.

That winter he had let himself be caught by the bulls a few times just to get the small amount of warmth the Refuge could offer. He stole what little food he could manage, but the street vendors had disappeared until warmer weather and the wary shopkeepers wouldn't let him through the door.

It got so bad, he had a bet going with another kid to see who would starve or freeze to death first. He won. One morning the other kid just didn't wake up. Blink didn't remember his name, but he was a good kid. Didn't deserve to die because he couldn't afford shoes or a coat, that's for sure.

It was the next day, or maybe it was that same day, when Greene had found him in a doorway. He asked him if he had a place to stay. Blink had only shook his head. Greene just smiled and offered his hand.

If he had only known then what taking that hand meant, he would have ran with all the life that remained in him.

But all he could think about was the possibility of food. If you asked him then if he'd rather have a hundred dollars or a roast beef sandwich, he would have taken the sandwich without regret. Hunger had its own mind. Maybe that's why he ignored the sense that was telling him to take his chances on his own.

He quickly fell into selling papers, Greene said he did it like he was born to. Of course, he said that to a lot of people, but Blink could tell he meant it when he said it to him.

That's what he found out Greene did, sell papers; that and a lot of other things. It would be a few months before he found out what those other things were and wished he had the sense to stick to papers. A quick nickel was what lured him into it at first, the idea of having a blanket of his own and getting one of those fancy pretzels he saw the rich kids eating on Saturdays. They were stupid reasons to do what he did, but he was a stupid kid back then.

Greene would tell him his part, sit him down and explain it until he could repeat it back by heart. Once he proved he could do the small things, like run messages back and forth without getting caught, Greene started to include him with the older kids. The bigger the risk, the bigger the pay off, Greene said each time Blink came back successful. But every time he did something right, Greene only expected more and Blink didn't want to disappoint him. So he did what he was told without question.

He'd soaked people he never even met, he'd stole from other kids worse off than him. He'd done some things that would put the Delancys to shame. All for what? A dime or two and the acceptance of people who only wanted to use him for what he was worth.

But that was where Greene really shined. If he wanted you to rob some kid on the corner, he would sit you down and tell you that kid had stolen the pennies from a beggar and he wanted to return them. Anything you needed to hear. And to a ten year old, his word was the unshakable truth. He had this way of getting people to do what he wanted, convince them to "see it his way." He was kind of like Spot in that respect, but he was always smiling and friendly about it. After talking to him for five minutes, you'd swear you knew him for years. He could talk a mother into giving up her child, that's what they always said anyway.

Blink never guessed that under that friendly smile, Greene was nothing more than snake. It was only after he fell and the rumors began that Blink found out half of what Greene did, what he was part of. The notes he ran to the different territories weren't for meetings, they were threats and demands. The kids he messed with weren't guilty of anything more than disagreeing with Greene or not paying up fast enough.

He was too young to understand it then. Or at least that's what he told himself. It lessened the pain to hide behind ignorance. But even as a kid, he knew what murder was, he knew the knives they had him drop in the river didn't turn red on their own.

Word came one night that Greene was dead, killed by some of his own. Blink didn't know what could have happened that would have caught Greene off guard. He had always been so careful. No one needed any other explanation, though, and by the morning there were five more ready to take his place.

With Greene gone, Blink could have chosen to stay and fight it out with the others or leave and start again. He left as soon as he got the opportunity. His eyes had seen too much and his mind wouldn't give him peace.

So he walked as far as he could one afternoon, picking the direction that had the least traffic. He ended up in Manhattan, or that's what the nearest kid said. Didn't look much older than him, maybe eleven. Later, he found out that kid's name was Racetrack. They used to be the same height back then, Blink smiled at the thought.

Blink did what he knew he could make a living doing, selling papers. But Manhattan was different, they smiled when they worked and didn't keep their heads down. They weren't at each other's throats for an empty bunk or a half-eaten sandwich. What really got him though, was that they talked and laughed with each other like they were friends. Not the kind that he had before that would watch your back if there was something in it for them, but real friends.

He had found it hard to trust them in the beginning. He knew what trust meant. It meant you were willing to give up a part of yourself and risk losing it. He had lost so much of himself already he wasn't sure how much was left.

But they didn't want anything from him. If they gave him food, it was because he was hungry, not because they wanted him to act as lookout for a robbery that night. It was hard to get used to it at first, he kept expecting the day to come when he would have to return the favor.

He would get in fights over little, stupid things, almost to see if there was an end to the patience they showed him. He wanted to find a crack in the illusion that would let him see who they truly were. They didn't have to put up with him, but they did. They threw him out every other week, but never denied him a bed if needed it. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't find the crack he was looking for.

God, he was a real piece of work back then. He still carried that reputation of being quick-tempered even after all these years.

No matter how many times he got thrown out, he always returned.

Race would just laugh at him when he came back.

"Tough day, kid?" he would say as he shuffled his cards with a smile.

"What's it to you?" Blink would snap back.

"Nothin,'" Race would continue to smile.

Blink would usually leave it at that, convinced in his own mind that he had one the battle. But there never was any battle, something he only realized later. Race was just humoring him. In the short time they had known each other, Race already had him figured out. He had a knack for reading people. They were just like cards, he had said once, no matter where you go they stayed the same. They might look a little different, but they did the same thing.

Race was one of the only people that kept trying with him, before Mush came a few months later. No matter what he did or who he managed to piss off, Race would just give him that sarcastic smile and shuffle his cards.

Blink wondered what was so damn interesting about that pile of paper, and one day, when he was in a more conversational mood, he asked. Race looked at him like he had just insulted his mother

It wasn't a 'pile of paper,' it was a deck of cards, Race had corrected him, only with a bit more colorful language.

Cards would keep you from being lonely, earn you dinner, and make you enemies, he explained as he dealt a game of poker for four. Blink just looked at him with an uncertainty he hadn't shown in a long time.

"What? You gonna stand there gawkin' at me like I'm the Queen of Sheba, or you gonna sit down and play?" Race said. He could still here Race saying that, it was something he had remembered after all this time.

He had played of course, he wasn't going to let Race show him up. But he was getting into a situation he couldn't win, he didn't know it at the time, but Race sure did. Race had taken him down a few notches that day and the day after that.

Race would play three of the hands and Blink would sit and concentrate on his one. He learned by watching. Race never told him the rules and he never asked.

So they would sit and play cards. For hours they would play, not for money, just for company. They talked about the track or the latest stories circulating around the house, it didn't matter really. Over a few scraps of paper spread out on a bunk, he had learned to trust Race. But it went beyond that. He had gotten something he hadn't expected and wasn't looking for. Race had become his friend.

Over the years he had tried to forget everything about his life before he came to Manhattan. It was an easy thing to do when you didn't want to remember. He had become so comfortable that even in such a changeable way of life, he felt secure. He had people that cared whether or not he came in at night, he had people that would back him up and lend him a few papers if he needed them. It was a rare thing to have in a city that was so often cold. He knew how lucky he was, and every morning he woke up and thanked God for it. He would feel the blanket underneath him and the smell of smoke as Race and Mush shared a cigarette to start the day, and he would remind himself how great he really had it.

Then it all changed.

In the space of two weeks, the years had melted away like nothing more than a good dream. The uncertainty, the memories, everything he thought he had let go, came rushing back.

Greene was back, the rumors said.

Word was sent silently over the streets, seeking out the former loyal. Greene was looking to get back what had and who he had. It was both inviting and threatening at once. Whoever rejoined him would be welcomed without question, who ever didn't would fall out of his "protection." For most it had been an easy decision: return or risk being caught alone in an alley somewhere. But for Blink it hadn't been so easy.

He knew Greene was going to go up against Brooklyn and that it would only be a matter of time before Manhattan became involved. There was no way he would ever stand against the only friends he had ever had in this world. He knew the consequences would be swift and final, but that was how desperate he was not to lose the second chance he had been given.

So they came and he answered.

They came again, saying that Greene had decided to give him another chance. He answered again.

They tried to change his mind, but he wouldn't listen. He'd gotten away with only a few scrapes that time, but it was just a warning and he knew it.

It wasn't like Greene to give anyone a second chance unless it suited his purpose. Blink knew Greene must have found out that he was close to Jack. He was worth more alive to him than dead, and that was probably the only reason he was still breathing.

The third time they found him, Race did too. He saw the betrayal in Race's eyes and it bit into him more than he ever could have imagined. But he let Race believe what he wanted, he didn't explain himself or offer excuses. He didn't know why exactly. Race was his friend and you were supposed to trust friends. And he did trust Race.

But it was better to push him away than to have him turn away.

He supposed part of him didn't want to remind them who he really was, what he felt was hiding just below his smiling exterior. He knew had changed. . . but what if he really hadn't? What if he was that same kid that would do anything if the price was right?

It was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Deciding to leave the only place he had ever truly felt like he belonged hurt him as punching Race had. It hurt him as much to listen to Race call him a scab and mean it. One of the only people that had ever cared about him now hated him.

He had fought Race with all of his hurt, his anger and the memory of everything he was losing.

Everything that was lost, he reminded himself. It was gone now.

He opened his eyes quickly, trying to fight back the wave of regret that came over him.

He held his breath as he heard the unwelcome sound of another pair of footsteps come closer. He hoped it wasn't that bull again. For once, he honestly didn't want to make any trouble, he just wanted to rest for five minutes.

But he knew he wouldn't be that lucky. More likely it was one of Greene's boys. They had been following him for the past few days, just far enough away to be uncomfortable and noticed. He had that same feeling as he had left the house earlier, like someone had been following him. He should have gone to Central Park, at least there he wouldn't have been alone and such an easy target.

The footsteps slowed as they approached the mouth of the alley and gradually stopped. He could see the shadow of a figure stretch past him as it stood motionless in the street light. He pulled himself back into the doorway as much as he could, trying to conceal himself in the darkness.

The footsteps began again slowly. But they weren't continuing on their way, they were coming towards him.

He swore to himself and worked his hand gingerly, trying to rid himself of the pain. He didn't know if he could win another fight, he was barely standing up straight as it was. As the figure came closer, he pushed any doubt from his mind. If he had to fight, he would win. It wasn't a question.

As the figure approached, he tensed and waited for it to pass. When it came into view he drew in a quick breath and threw himself against the person with all the strength he could manage and knocked them back against the opposite wall. The impact jarred his sore muscles with a screaming burst of pain, but he bit it back and kept his ground.

"What's the matter, don't you got ears? I told you to leave me alone," he said, pinning the figure against the brick. If Greene was wanted to take him down, he was going down proud.

"Watch yourself, Kid," a familiar voice warned him as the figure shoved him off.

Blink stumbled back a few steps as he tried to hold on to his balance.

"Sorry, I-I wasn't expectin' no one," he managed as he caught his breath, that one action taking almost all of his energy, "Sorry, Spot."

He apologized more to save his own skin than out of any sentiment. Few people laid a hand on Spot and were still around to talk about it. He dropped his offensive stance and backed away until he hit the wall again, partly to use it as support and partly to get as far away from Spot as he could. He could feel the blood pounding in his head and wanted nothing more than to collapse and be done with it.

"You alright?" Spot asked without sympathy. He could see Spot watching him from the light of the street. His eyes weren't kind though, and didn't express concern; it was almost as if he was trying to figure out if Blink was in good enough shape to make a run for it or not.

"Yeah," Blink replied, keeping his voice as steady as he could. He knew Spot was looking for weakness and that made him all the more resolute not to show it.

"Good, 'cause you and me is gonna have a little talk," Spot told him.

Blink closed his eyes and swallowed. This was not good.

Jack probably sent Spot out because he didn't want to do it himself. He had thought Jack would have at least given him a day to get out of Manhattan. But maybe friendship didn't count for as much as he thought it did. He couldn't say he wasn't expecting it, if he were Jack he would have done the same thing.

Well, at least the night would be shorter than he thought, he told himself with a smile that was lost in the darkness.

* * *

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A/n: A very special thank you to studentnumber24601 for reading this chapter over for me, if you haven't read her stories, I strongly suggest you take a look-sie, they are really quite wonderful. (And she promises there shall be more :0) )

Thank you to everyone for the reviews, you guys have a special place in my heart. Specifically the part that encourages me to keep writing… it's just under the left ventricle ;0)

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24601- More fights..makes note Blink!muse and Race!muse run for cover :0) Ahhh. . .its all worth it when someone discovers latent hotness in Jack, if I have reached one person, my job has been done :0) Thank you so much for your help on this chap ( and I'm so going to keep telling you every chance I get :0) ) 

Geometrygal- Hehehe, glad you enjoyed, everyone needs a good fight scene now and then :0) I seem to remember that a certain boy is still hanging from a cliff in the middle of a baseball field somewhere! Oh that wasn't too subtle was it? Thank you for your review :0)

hilaRyB- Mmmmm. . .pineapple. . .Thank you for your review :0) I very much enjoyed your story, it had such a great tension between Jack and Spot. I'm really very glad to hear that the characters are working properly, it made my day :0)

elensiluva- Welcome to the fantabulous newsieverse! Blink!muse gives elensiluva her first newsie cap hehehe :0) I'm so glad you liked the story, if suspense is what you like, you'll be getting a lot more of it :0) Thank you for your review! I hoped you liked this part :0)

Lanni-:0) I'm so glad you enjoyed! I'm enjoying having you enjoy the story ( ok, too many 'enjoys' back the there :0) ) Thank you for reading and thank you so much for reviewing.

Bottles- Thank you! Hehe, good ole' Spot, but not too good for Blink ;0) secretive!spot twirls imaginary moustache Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this part, Torturedpast!Blink and Secretive!Spot do too :0)

Spotten One- I have perfected the "stealth post" hehehe No worries my darlin' :0) I know how it is, especially with all those wonderful fics you've been turning out. I'm so glad you enjoyed the chap and I hope you enjoyed this one too :0)

Jenn C- Here is it! Not too long of a wait was it:0) Thank you so much for your kind words and letting me know you were reading and enjoying :0)

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As always, thank you for reading! 


	10. Playing Games

(Warning: From here on in, you can expect violent themes to pop up (implied and actual) Just in case I forget to head each chapter- though I'll do my best :0) )

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"What's the matter? You scared?" Spot said, a faint smile creeping into the corner of his mouth.

Spot knew he was. It was in your best interest to be. Scared and stupid. That's what everyone was in his eyes. Blink could see it. It was one of the few things Spot took for granted. A weakness if he had one.

Blink didn't respond.

Was he afraid of Spot? You'd have to be crazy not to be, but that didn't mean he was going to confess it.

He was stubborn, but it had gotten him into worse trouble than this…well, maybe not.

"You should be," Spot said, not giving him the chance to answer even if he had wanted to, "Every second you're still breathin' you owe to me. Knowin' what I know, I shouldn't even be wastin' my time talkin' with you."

"What do you know?" Blink asked, trying to feign composure and innocence at the same time. Stalling? In a word. If he was going to die, he was going to do it on his feet and with his fists, not in some back alley where he couldn't put up a fight.

The only way he was getting out of this was if Spot decided the information he had was wrong, which was a given, though the thought of Spot admitting he was wrong was something else entirely. There was no one who could pin him except-

Race.

Race wouldn't give him up, though. Names were one thing; he didn't blame him for that. He deserved it. But Race knew what giving him up would mean, especially to the likes of Spot. He'd never do it.

"Nah, it don't work that way," Spot said, the smile abruptly falling from his lips as he took a step forward, closing the small distance between them.

Blink got the impression that he had crossed some invisible line he should have been aware of. Reflexively he tried to take a step back, but found only the wall behind him.

"I ask the questions and you answer 'em. You don't speak until I tell you to. Understand?" Spot said plainly, any trace of amusement, feigned or otherwise, gone from his voice.

Blink nodded only once and that was more than he wanted to give Spot. He knew the darkness was on his side, as it hid the challenging glare in his eye that he couldn't suppress. But the silence was all Spot wanted, or at least that's what Blink reasoned. No matter how dark the shadows were, he knew Spot could still see him. If he wanted Blink scared enough not to look at him, he wouldn't hesitate in giving him a reason.

"You ain't as stupid as you look," Spot seemed satisfied with Blink's grasp of the situation and turned away, but didn't go far before turning around again. He had put distance between them, but was still close enough for discomfort. Spot within arms length was always a dangerous thing, and that was when he didn't have it in for you.

Crossing his arms, Spot returned Blink's almost confrontational stare. It wasn't something he would normally entertain, but maybe it didn't matter to him because Blink wouldn't be around much longer anyway. He just stood solidly and unwaveringly, almost as if he was testing the silence and seeing if Blink would be foolish enough to break it first. Blink wasn't going to give him an excuse at this point, so he kept his mouth shut and waited.

What seemed like a small eternity passed. Spot didn't move and Blink could have sworn he didn't blink once. Maybe he practiced, Blink thought absently. A couple hours a day, a few days a week. It couldn't be that hard to learn how to wilt flowers with one look. The thought caused him to laugh to himself, the absurdity of it so out of place in the very serious situation he was in. Was he losing his mind? Probably. It would go a long way to explaining his sudden loss of interest in self-preservation as of late.

The dull throbbing in the back of his head became more pronounced as the seconds passed, probably because it was the only thing he had to think about besides his imminent demise. At this point he didn't know which was less painful to think about. His eye glanced away long enough to steady himself against the wall.

At that moment, Spot uncrossed his arms and finally decided to end the tense silence. Maybe that's what he was waiting for all along, for Blink to be the first to look away. Blink hadn't dealt with Spot before, not in any situation where Jack wasn't a mitigating force. Apparently there were rules he was only starting to figure out. Too bad he wouldn't last long enough to make any use of it.

"Who'd you think I was?" Spot nodded in the direction he came, no doubt referring to the less than warm welcome.

"Nobody," Blink responded after a moment of hesitation.

Was it worth it to keep the act up? He couldn't get much closer to being dead to everyone he knew. Once they pinned him a traitor, the mark wouldn't be easily erased. No one would acknowledge his existence and sooner spit in his face than give him the time of day. Something like that tended to follow you wherever you went. Unless he left the city, he could look forward to being nothing but a shadow. And if Spot was out looking for him it could only mean he was close to death in the literal sense as well. He was kidding himself to think he would even survive long enough to suffer the stigma of a traitor.

He was dead either way. Spot now or Box Greene later, it was going to end the same.

It wasn't worth it. If he had any sense in his skull he would have just said his piece and hoped to God that Spot believed him. But he didn't have any sense in him, or at least that's what Mush and Race got great satisfaction in telling him daily.

They wouldn't take him back anyway, Blink told himself. It was too late for that. And even if they did, he knew only trouble would come from it. Jack had wanted to keep Manhattan clear of any scores Greene was looking to settle. For the good of everyone else, Jack would have no other choice but to ask him to leave.

"I'm gonna make this real easy for you to understand. That was me askin' you a question," Spot said with a hint of annoyance, not being accustomed to repeating himself, "And this is me given you another chance to answer it."

"Look, it don't matter-" Blink's response was cut short with his breath as he slammed back into the brick wall. The suddenness of it caught him off guard and ripped a gasp of pain from his throat as every bone seemed jar sharply into his sore muscles. His face twisted into a grimace as he tried to unlock Spot's fist from its grip on his shirt.

"I ain't in the mood to play games," Spot warned him through narrowed eyes, his fingers digging into the cloth and ignoring Blink's attempt to shake him off. "Don't make me knock your brains all over the street. Kelly wouldn't like cleanin' that up."

Blink managed a nod, only getting the gist of what Spot had said without actually hearing the words. His heart pounded in his ears and drown out everything except the pain.

That was when it hit him: He wasn't going to make it out. He couldn't defend himself; he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of it.

Well, at least he could say Spot had done it. No doubt he would just be one name at the end of a very long list, but still. . . God, he was losing it. _The end means the end, Kid. You won't be tellin' no one about it_, he told himself. At least that would mean no one would know how he died backed into a corner.

He opened his eye, not remembering when he closed it

"You think I'm jokin'?" Spot pulled Blink forward just enough to make sure he heard.

Blink tried to clear his mind enough to respond, but apparently it wasn't fast enough for Spot's liking. Before he could brace himself, Spot shoved him back against the brick again.

"I asked you, if you thought I was jokin'."

"No, I don't think you're jokin'," Blink said through clenched teeth, getting the point of the exercise too late to save himself the trouble.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"What?" Blink asked automatically, noticing his error as he felt Spot's fist tighten. "No, it wasn't," he corrected himself quickly. Self-preservation wasn't exactly as low on his list as he thought.

"Good, you're gettin' it," Spot said, "Now I got another one for ya: Who'd you think I was?" He said it slowly and deliberately, making each word a threat in itself.

Say it, Blink willed himself, just tell him what he wants to know. He'll leave you alone. Yeah right, he'll leave you alone. . . face down in a ditch.

"He thought you was me," a voice answered from the opening of the alley.

Blink snapped his attention to the direction of the voice, ignoring the pain that accompanied the quick movement. If it was possible, his heart began beating faster. His eye searched the silhouette that had decided to make its presence known, trying to find an identity. He didn't need to though, the voice was more than enough.

It couldn't be.

There was no way he was getting out of this one alive. Any trace of hope he had dared himself to keep was gone.

"Yeah? And who would you be?" Spot shot back, not even bothering to look at the owner of the voice. His tone was unfriendly and cold enough to make it clear they were not welcome.

Whether Spot was unaware of who exactly he was dealing with or merely playing the part, Blink didn't know. He only knew it wasn't smart to keep your back turned to such a threat and if he cared about Spot's life he probably would have said something.

Spot only turned his head when no response came. Instead of leaving as quickly as it could, the figure instead began walking toward them slowly. The steps were easy and not threatening or nervous. They knew where they were going and weren't afraid.

Spot released his grip on Blink, but didn't move away. He wanted his hands to be free in case he needed them. There were a very small number of people in the city that would approach him alone. Cut that number in half for those that were willing to do it outside of Brooklyn. Of those there were only two that would risk it at night, and one was back at the Manhattan lodging house. The other was dead.

_Run_, Blink told himself. He couldn't move his legs. No matter how much he willed them to move, they wouldn't budge from the cement. His eyes remained locked on the steadily approaching source of concern, the warning in his mind growing louder with each step. But he couldn't compel himself to run.

"Don't even think about moving," Spot said warningly under his breath to Blink, almost as if he was anticipating his thought of running.

Spot's eyes stayed trained on the approaching figure, not needing to look further down the alley to make sure his boys were there. They were watching as much as he was, and with the slightest signal from him, they would knock the kid into last Tuesday.

The stranger came to a stop a safe distance away, within a stream of light from one of the windows above. Settling on his features, the light cast dim shadows over the angles of his face. Though obscured slightly, his identity was immediately revealed if there was any question before. He wanted to be recognized.

If Spot felt anything but boredom, he didn't show it. He wouldn't show anything to this kid. That had been the last mistake he made that he regretted.

"Come on, you tellin' me you don't remember?" the newcomer said with a smile that seemed to communicate everything but amusement.

"Yeah, I suppose I do," Spot said with ease, taking the edge off of his move to pull his cane from its belt loop. Though he held it loosely, he held it with the intention to use it.

The last time they met, one of them ended up dead.

"It's been a long time, Box."

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A/N: I ran into a bit of a wall, but I have found my way around it. This was actually the first half of the intended chapter, but I really wanted to post for you guys, you have been so patient! Finals are swooping in for the kill, so wish me luck! Or at least wave large umbrellas at them ;0) Time is still a scarce commodity, so I'm still trying to catch up on all my reading and reviewing :0)

Many thank yous to 24601 again, for taking time out of her busy schedule to test-drive this for me.

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Ler Shoutouts!

HilaRyB- Ohh! I made you happy! That makes me happy! breaks out the happy dance music Race will be back in action next chapter. Mwhahaha cough cough Oh dear, did that sound maniacal? No, not at all, it will be nice and happy and lollipops will be had by all, Mwhahahahahah! cough Thank you so much for all your kind words and I'm really glad you like the story, Thank you again!

Geogal- Why won't that boy run? Well, I could also ask why your boys haven't gotten relationship counseling yet, hehehe. Are you going to be doing that sequel, by the by? birthday balloons spontaneously fall on geogal Happy birthday: the sequel :0) Thank you muchly for your review darlin'!

J "Spotted One" 

I so played with polly pocket when I was a young'un.I always wondered how that go by the safety board, it practically saying "I'm a choking hazard!" on the box, heheh, not like that ever stopped me from playing with it. Thank you for your review! Playing is definitely allowed and encouraged during the review process ;0)

KidBlink182-Thank you so much! I'm so glad you enjoyed it and thank you soooooo very much for letting me know! It means a lot to me to know people are enjoying this, so thank you again :0) Good characters hugs characters now I just have to get them to continue to cooperate ;0)

24601-You just are the bestest reader/beta/ newsie tamer a girl could ask for ;0) Hahaha Blink's past (I love there was a " he starved to death and then." he is that good of a survivor that he can come back form the dead and still be a scrumptious newsie ;0) ) One of these chapters I'm going to have to write an ode to you ;0) Thank you so much, as always :0)

Bottles- Ooooo literary deception, I like the sound of that, its all literary and deceptive :0) Let's get ready to rumble! Odds are 50 to one on scary!spot ( well he's scary and can fly.oh wait no, no he can't ;0) 30 to 1 then) Thank you for your review!

Peachy/Elensiluva- Peachy sounds like a newsie name to me, and you have your hat, all you need now is. Race hands Peachy a stack of papes, with a tip of his hat ( he's such a nice boy) thank you for your review(s), it really encourage me to get going on this one :0) I hope you enjoyed.

Nerikla- Yay! Blink has won support! The poor guy was getting such a bad rap :0) Not that I had anything to do with that of course whistles innocently :0) Thank you so much for reading and for your nice words, I hope you enjoy this chap!

Jenn C- Dear me! You say "dear me!" too ( I say that all the time for some reason) I have met a kindred spirit. I do love some good tension and I'm glad you have been enjoying it and the story, thank you for reading and being so faithful a reviewer!

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As always. thank you for reading and if you have a minute or two to spare, please let me know what you think so far. :0)


	11. Answers

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Jack reached the top of the staircase with a heaviness in his step.

The light from the street lamps mingled with the cool paleness of the moonlight, washing the walls in an unusual luminance. The dirt and the disrepair of the room were obscured by shadows, making the surfaces glow as they never could in the sun. It was these times, when the house was quiet and the air was still, that he could almost forget that he was in the city. He hadn't known any other surroundings besides bare brick and chipping paint, but he had heard stories of the country, with its quite breezes and open hills. He had always imagined that the feeling of the country was just the same as the city after twilight, before the night began.

For the few moments between the factory workers heading home and the pubs opening their doors to those who wanted to forget the day, there was a peacefulness that could easily be missed.

He wasn't looking for it tonight, though.

Any shred of quiet in his mind had been chased away by a growing feeling of apprehension. It ate at his confidence. Something much larger than him was happening and he didn't know what it was. All he knew was that time wasn't on his side.

The floor creaked under his weight as he crossed to the far end of the room. He counted the dim outlines of the bunks silently as he passed, a habit he picked up from his first days at the lodging house. The older boys didn't have the patience for younger ones that couldn't find their bunks. He had made sure from the beginning he could navigate the room down to the last post, even in darkness.

He could make out only one or two sleeping forms in the shadows. That wasn't so unusual. 'Early to bed, early to rise' wasn't the way things worked. If you went to sleep, it meant you had to get up. You never knew who would be gone when you opened your eyes in the morning, or if the nickel you made the day before would carry you through to tomorrow. Getting up meant another day and a whole new set of uncertainties. That was his reasoning anyway.

He came almost to the end of the room before turning down one of the last rows. The bunk he was looking for was occupied, and he was glad he had tried there first.

Taking in a slow breath, he combed the strands of greasy hair out of his face and cleared a place to sit across the row.

"Hey, Race," he said just loud enough to be heard as he sat down on the edge of the neighboring bunk. There was no reply. He tried again a bit louder, careful to keep his voice low enough so as not to attract any stray ears.

"Race."

Again there was no answer.

Jack leaned forward and tried to make out Race's features in the darkness. Maybe it wasn't him after all and one of the new kids had fallen asleep in the wrong bunk. Race could easily be out on the fire escape or half way to Midtown by now. Hell, he could have decided to finish it with Blink out in the street.

As Jack's eyes adjusted to the light, he could just make out the familiar checked pattern of Race's vest. He couldn't help but feel relieved, the thought of Race and Blink going at each other wasn't the most comforting thought, not after what he had just seen.

Jack sat back and looked Race over with a glance. His breathing was calm and shallow, not sharp or irritated, which was enough to tell Jack he was asleep and not stewing in his anger. He hadn't taken his shoes off. Probably passed out. Good thing he had made it to his bunk and had the sense not to go out on the fire escape. That would have been a long way down.

After a moment's hesitation, Jack placed a hand on Race's shoulder and shook him lightly. Part of him felt bad for waking Race up, the other part was not looking forward to the holy hell that he was sure he would be on the receiving end of.

"Race," he called again, his voice barely audible to his own ears.

Stirring under his touch, Race opened his eyes slowly and turned his head.

"Jack?"

There was only sleep in his voice, no tension or emotion. He hadn't remembered yet. Still caught in the few moments before waking, the world was as it should be and nothing was amiss.

"What's the matter with you?" Race mumbled, closing his eyes again, "I'm sleepin' over here."

Jack looked down at his hands and waited for him to come back to the present. He felt along the edge of his shirt, finding an unraveling string to pull on. Anything to keep him from looking at Race and seeing the moment his expression fell. The moment it darkened. The moment when he did remember.

"How ya doin'?" Jack ventured.

"What?" Race responded with a delay, the question taking a moment to find an answer.

His mind swam in the darkness; a familiar feeling that came with many evenings shared with bad whiskey and one too many lucky hands. He tried to remember what happened, how much he had lost and to who. But he couldn't remember the game. That was odd. He'd never let himself go far enough to forget everything. Maybe tonight was a special night. Was it his birthday? No, that was months ago.

All at once, Race's confused expression broke and his eyes flew open.

"What time is it?" he moved to sit up, the realization that he might have slept through the morning edition causing him to ignore the sudden jolt of pain that ripped through his muscles.

"Whoa, take it easy," Jack leaned forward and planted a restraining hand on his chest, immediately realizing what the concern was, "It's still night, you don't gotta be up for a few hours, okay?"

Race's head fell back to the pillow with a mixture of relief and dizziness. He must have had one hell of a night. Maybe it really was his birthday.

"How ya feelin'?" Jack asked again.

"Fine," he answered, not knowing what had gotten into Jack. First waking him up in the middle of the night and now asking stupid questions like that. If he was feeling bad, it was his fault and no one else's. Race rubbed away the tiredness in his eyes. He hoped he hadn't lost everything and that he had the sense to keep a nickel or two.

As he drew his hand away from his face, he noticed a dull ache. He opened and closed his hand, feeling the soreness in each movement. He ran his fingers over the skin of his knuckles, expecting to find it smooth, but instead finding cracked and drying blood. He must have gotten into a fight. Either that or he gave a lamppost a run for its money on the way home.

His thumb traced the edges of a particularly deep cut as he thought. He ignored the stinging, trying to find the memory that would explain it.

A fight.

Not over cards, something else. Not money, not girls. Not drunk, though he felt like he had a hangover.

Mush was there, Jack. Blink. Skittery. Spot.

Did he get into it with Spot? No, Spot was watching. Blink.

Blink. Blink was there.

Race could see his face in his mind. He could feel the anger he saw. It wasn't Blink's anger, it was his. He ran his thumb over the cut again.

In the next moment, it all came back to him.

God. Mother of God.

"You hearin' me, Race?" Jack asked, thinking Race had passed out again.

"Yeah," Race replied heavily. It was a noticeable change in tone, one that Jack didn't miss.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all," Race said quickly and without any real sincerity. Jack wasn't asking him about what happened that night, he was asking him if he felt up to talking. "You got a smoke or somethin'?"

"Nah, I'm out."

"Figures," Race turned away from him. He didn't want to talk. He needed a cigarette.

Jack waited. He didn't know how to ask Race what he needed to know. He didn't know if Race would even answer him.

"You want somethin' or are you up here outta genuine concern?" Race asked with an undercurrent of hostility.

"You called Blink a scab. Why?" Jack asked, getting to the point.

Race stiffened. He knew Jack didn't talk in circles when a straight line would do. And there was no kind way of approaching something like that. Though he knew the question was coming, he wasn't prepared to answer it. He couldn't tell Jack the truth. He couldn't tell Jack what he saw.

"Cause I'm a liar, Jack. You don't gotta worry about nothin' I say."

"Don't screw with me, Race," Jack cast off a measure of patience, "You ain't a liar and I ain't stupid."

"You willin' to make a bet on that last one?"

In any other situation it would have been just another cheap shot for a quick laugh, but there was no lightness in his voice.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Jack narrowed his eyes in irritation.

Race looked away, but didn't offer any further explanation.

Jack watched him as he pulled a cigar from under his mattress. Here Race was, giving him the run-around when Blink's life was in the balance. It wasn't like Race not to be straight with him when it counted.

Something didn't add up and, as the seconds passed, Jack grew more sure of what that something was.

"It's true. Ain't it?"

"What's that, Cowboy?" Race said with a bit of effort as he tried to sit up.

"He's been the one talkin' with Greene." Jack focused on what he could see of Race's face, trying to find the answer he knew Race wouldn't give him so easily.

"Nah, must be someone else," Race shrugged it off as he struck a match to light the cigar.

"Race-"

"He ain't it," Race said again with enough assurance to make Jack almost believe it.

Almost.

It was the calm, flat denial that made Jack think twice. The Race he knew would have been on him in an instant for even suggesting such a thing.

"Don't cover for him," Jack pressed him.

"He ain't it, Jack."

It was like talking to a wall. He needed Race to be straight with him, for his own peace of mind. He could go on his own suspicion, but this was too big to leave up to a gut feeling. Jack switched tactics.

"We're friends, ain't we Race?" he asked.

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Race flicked the ash off the end his cigar.

"I know you're good to watch my back. You'd look out for me wouldn't you?

"You know I would."

"Then I'm askin' you to look out for me now. And if that ain't good enough, then I'm askin' you to look out for Mush or Skittery, or any of them downstairs. You're either lookin' out for him or us. I know it ain't the best place to be in, Race. If you say he ain't it, then that's good enough for me. I'll stand with him and won't let no one say nothin' against him."

Jack was right. Race hated it, but he was.

And Jack trusted him. He knew Jack would go on whatever he said. He hated that. It compelled him to tell the truth, it put any and all responsibility squarely on his shoulders, not Jack's.

Jack wasn't stupid. He was the farthest thing from it. And in this game, his mind had worked a fraction of a second quicker that Race's had. He had pinned Race where he knew it would affect him the most and he hid it under one hell of a poker face.

If the situation wasn't what it was, Race might have congratulated him on it.

Race knew it was entirely in his hands. He wondered what Blink would do if he were in his place. He knew the answer. And just until a few moments ago, he believed he never would either. But this wasn't the Blink he knew. It wasn't Blink at all.

He was something worse than the Delanceys combined.

He was a traitor. He had turned against them. There would be no forgiveness, no second chance. He knew the rules of the game, they all did.

There was only one way it could end.

He knew where they met, who they had deals with, who they were loyal to, and who was loyal to them. He knew things Spot didn't, that no outsider would.

They couldn't let Blink walk, they couldn't risk it. Not even if they wanted to. Not even if friendship meant what it was supposed to.

They had all learned fast that to tolerate betrayal was to invite danger. The absence of tolerance had kept them safe, to bend the rules because of sentiment was foolish and would only cause more harm.

Blink wouldn't be coming back. They wouldn't bump into each other in ten years and joke about the time Blink actually won a game of poker. What would happen could never be taken back. Time would forget him, Race would learn to forget him.

Race closed his eyes. There would be no other discussion, no chance for defense or explanation. With a word he could save Blink. With that same word he would endanger himself and every other boy that affiliated with Manhattan. He had no choice.

"I'd never give him up," Race said finally, "You know that, right?"

Jack nodded. That told him what he needed to know, even if he didn't fully believe it yet.

In his way, Race was staying loyal. He had found a way to tell Jack what he needed to know without saying it aloud. And if anyone ever asked him, Jack would tell them the truth, Race never gave Blink up.

"You didn't give him up, he gave himself up," Jack affirmed quietly, searching for Race's eyes in the darkness. He wanted Race to know he understood.

But Race didn't want Jack's understanding. He had given Blink up. And he'd have to find a way to live with that.

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AN: Hoo-rah! An update!

Thank you for being patient on this one :0) everyone gets a complimentary Blink-shaped cookie I must have re-written the darn thing fifty-seven times!

A very special thank you to Pickles "Picky" Magee, for her fly-by-night help on this chapter, and also to B/24601 for her early reading of this chap many moons ago when it was darker and experimental. And a great big thank you to everyone that reviewed and offered their suggestions, it really helped to form where the story will go.

Next chapter: Spot and Box (the rematch!)

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Ler Shoutouts! (Hopefully everyone is still around ;0) ) If I missed anyone, let me know :0)

Hilary-You changed your name! (Yes, I am Captain Obvious' loyal sidekick :0) ) I was looking and looking for Vaudville because I didn't get a chance to finish it, but it was gone :0( I hope you do find a backup soon) It was very good, and your other stories too, I wanted to reread your Jack/spot tear Thank you so much for your review, it was so fun to read, I was laughing the whole way through :0)

Jenn C- Mmmmm.Spot..sigh Oh, um, yes I was just thinking about the political ramifications of having goldfish elected selectmen. Yes, I'm an incredibly deep thinker. Thank you for your review my dear! I think you'll like the spot quotient in the next one ;0)

Cynic-hehe, Spot and Box, hmmm.let me just say that you are on the right track ;0) They were too big for this chapter, and needed one all to themselves :0) Thank you so much for your review, I hope you liked this chappy :0)

Gothic Author- Yes, I'm back! Though after a bit of a hiatus. I have the whole story planned out, so my updating should be closer together, now that school is in full swing knocks on wood Thank you so much for your review. I absolutely love humor and I try to put it in as much as I can, I'm so glad someone else gets the fun stuff ;0) I hope you enjoyed :0)

Peachy- I'm glad you enjoyed, here is another chapter I hope you like! I also hope you have been having fun with the muses ;0)

JP- hits tape recorder, music starts If it isn't One, Spotted One. I see you have uncovered our plan for world domination! Oh, wait looks at file no, my mistake, you have uncovered the newsies plan for world domination. That's a horse of a different color :0) Thank you for your review!

Owlhootoo2- I can't say anything shifts eyes the muses will get me..all I'll say is :the duck flies at midnight wink wink Thank you for your review(s) so many nice comments! I'm really glad you enjoyed reading, and I hope this chap lived up to the rest :0)

Spatz- Cuteness is the number one determinant of how innocent someone is :0) Thank you so much for your kind words! I'm really happy you enjoyed it and I hope you liked this chap!

Kate Lynn- Thank you! faint I'm so glad you enjoyed it! Vacation is the best thing ever. . .Oh, wait its over, well at least there is still newsies ;0)

Lanni- Here! Here! Update for you and the deities of Fanfiction!

24601/B- Well, since you put it that way, I think I might just have to :0) Quite a change from the earlier incarnation. I figured there will be enough angst coming up, that the story needed a little calm spot :0) You flatter me! I admire your writing so much, that hearing you say such things, makes my heart all a flutter :0) Thank you!

Picky-"masochistic newsie nuance". . .oh no! Race has been discovered :0)

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As always, thank you for reading!


	12. Rock and a Hard Place

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The stories had his eyes gleam as black as the devil's hooves. He was seven feet tall and spoke in strange tongues before making any deals. He could control a man just by talking and kill him with a look. They said he would drink fire before a fight to burn his opponent with the mere touch of his fists.

The police didn't touch him, the papers didn't touch him. Nobody with half a brain touched him.

Stories, Blink told himself. They were just stories meant to frighten, meant to explain what nobody understood: How one boy could organize and control what grown men had failed to.

The stories were started by those who had never seen Greene. Those that followed Greene were often left out, but it was only through them that his arms could reach so far and his grasp could be so tight. Nothing of what he had done was inexplicable to those that cared to look close enough. But few had the opportunity to get that close.

Greene tipped his hat to Spot with a half-smile, not moving from where he had initially stopped.

Spot nodded, but favored Greene with little more than narrowed eyes.

Greene wasn't half as large as the time and distance of Blink's imagination had made him out to be. In fact, he was only a few inches taller than Spot, on the thin side with just enough muscle to make someone think twice before hassling him. Truth be told, there was nothing at all imposing or intimidating about the way he looked. He was the kid you saw on the corner selling papers or being chased by the bulls, remembered only for what he was doing rather than the way he looked. The only remarkable thing about his appearance was that it was unremarkable. Describing him would be describing ten other boys in sight on a busy street.

Brown hair. Brown eyes. Brown cap. Shirt dirty, skin dirty.

He could walk through Central Park and never be noticed. A talent for disappearing, Greene called it. Talent or not, it was something that allowed him to avoid getting caught or named. And he stood with the presence of someone who would never get caught. He had an ease about him that was almost infectious, but Blink knew better. He knew what was under that smile. He had seen what happened to those who were disarmed by a few slick words.

Blink didn't allow himself to relax, even as it became clear Greene was going to stay on his side of the alley. Blink's eyes moved quickly to the street Greene had come from, looking for the others he had certainly come with. He never went anywhere alone, though he did a good job of hiding it. The street was clear and there appeared to be no one present but the three of them.

This fact did nothing to reassure Blink. Somewhere in the darkness Greene's boys were watching and Brooklyn was waiting.

"It's been a long time, ain't it? How long you figure?" Greene asked offhandedly, as if he was more interested in catching up than settling any business. As he spoke, Greene took his hands from his pockets. He turned his empty palms toward Spot as he let them fall to his sides. It was a subtle gesture, but one that wasn't lost on Blink. He was showing Spot he didn't have a weapon.

"I don't keep track, got better things to do wit my time," Spot said curtly, lowering his cane to rest on the ground.

"Brooklyn was never that hard to run."

"Yeah, well I do it right."

Greene's smile widened, "You're gettin' quicker. Didn't see that one comin."

"You don't see much," Spot returned flatly.

Blink winced inwardly.

Spot was pushing it. There was only so much someone could take before they would be compelled out of honor's sake to match insults. Greene seemed to pick up on Spot's game rather quickly, but wasn't inclined to play.

"You challengin' me?" Greene asked with a rehearsed ease that no doubt came from saying those words a great many times before. He was forcing Spot to put his money where his mouth was. If Spot wanted to play, Greene was telling him how high he was willing to go.

"No," Spot said carefully, as if he had calculated every possible meaning of the word in the time it took him to say it.

"I always knew you had brains," Greene said, almost waiting for the quick answer that was sitting on the edge of Spot's tongue. Spot didn't respond.

Blink kept the disbelief from his face. Spot backing down wasn't something he had expected to see in his lifetime. Not that he would want to be in the middle of a fight between Spot Conlon and Box Greene, but it would have taken care of at least two of his problems in one go.

There might as well have been no one else there but the two of them. They were studying each other, though putting a fair amount of effort into not showing it. It was almost as if seeing the other was something that wouldn't happen again and wasn't expected to begin with.

They were trying to discern which one was stronger simply by eye contact and physical presence. It was the same sort of encounter that Blink had seen on the streets a dozen times over selling spots or a stolen penny. But whatever had happened between them went far beyond a penny, that much was clear.

They were walking circles around each other without moving a foot, searching for an advantage.

"They still call you Conlon?" Greene began again, as if they were old friends. It was a mask he wore well, so well Blink would have believed it if he hadn't seen how rigidly Spot was standing.

"Spot."

"Spot Conlon," Greene repeated, with an approving nod, "Got a ring to it, don't it?"

"Yeah, it do. You want somethin' Box?"

"Just out for a walk, that's all. Makin' some new friends," Greene said easily, not returning the blatant coldness in Spot's voice. He paused long enough to nod at Blink, with a glimmer of displeasure in his eyes, "Lookin' for old ones."

"It's late for a walk. There's all sorts of people out here at night. Wouldn't want nothin' bad to happen," Spot said, punctuating the subtle warning by readjusting the grip on his cane.

Greene caught the threat with amusement, "I s'pose you're right. But it must not be that bad, I don't see none of your boys lookin' out for you."

"One word from me and this alley becomes the next best thing to Brooklyn."

"Two won't cut it, Conlon," Greene laughed. He took out a cigarette from his back pocket and lit it, something he knew Spot would understand for the dismissive gesture it was. It meant he wasn't going on guard, that he didn't take Spot as a serious threat.

"Find out," Spot said evenly, not allowing a trace of rising anger to enter his voice.

"That's all you got. One to watch your back and one to watch the street when you take your eyes off of it. Ain't that right?" Greene said with the satisfaction of calling a bluff, "What makes you think they're still out there anyways? "

"Make your point. You want me dead, challenge me. You want him dead," Spot nodded to Blink, "Do it already, I ain't gonna stand in your way."

Blink shot Spot a look of disdain. True, they shared no bonds of loyalty, but the easiness in which Spot handed Greene his life was something Blink wouldn't have expected from even Spot.

Blink willed himself to sink back into the brick that trapped him. He tried not to look at Greene, hoping he would forget about him if he kept his mouth shut. If he had been looking however, he would have seen the smile fall slightly from Greene's face.

"What's the matter, you don't trust me?' Spot said with a hint of sarcasm, "Go ahead, take'im. He's one of yours ain't he?"

There was tangible pause. Greene had done something Blink had never seen him do. He had hesitated.

For a brief moment, Greene narrowed his eyes and glanced between Blink and Spot. "You're gonna give him to me just like that?"

It was obviously something Greene hadn't expected to hear.

Spot caught this uncharacteristic uncertainty with a tilt of his head, the only outward sign that his mind was rapidly rethinking the situation.

Greene's expression broke a second later, his familiar confidence curling his mouth into a smile, "He belongs to Kelly and you know that."

"Is that right?"

"I've been keeping my ears open, Conlon. No one's willing to join you. Kelly's your last chance. If I take Kid here, then your givin' Kelly a reason to join you against me. You probably set this whole thing up," his eyes swept the alley as he spoke, reevaluating it for the threat he now saw. He dropped the cigarette to smolder on the ground and took a short step back, allowing the shadows to cover him more fully.

Spot raised an eyebrow before his expression quickly dissolved into a smirk. This only confirmed for Greene what he already believed, and what Spot was all too willing to let him believe.

"It don't make no difference. Sooner or later he ain't gonna have someone watchin' his back," Greene said in warning to Blink without turning from Spot, "I don't forgive disloyalty."

"Is that all he's done?" Spot said, "I like him better already."

"You would. You know all about disloyalty, don't you, Conlon?" Greene's façade had lost all pretense of charm.

"Look where it got me."

"Enjoy it, it ain't gonna last."

"And you know all about not lasting, don't you, Box?"

Greene caught himself as he took a step toward Spot, his fists clenched. He quickly regained his composure and deprived Spot of seeing his anger at that remark. If Spot had wanted to get under Greene's skin, he'd finally succeeded. And by the self-satisfied smile that played at the corner of Spot's mouth, he knew it.

"Be careful walkin' home, Conlon. Wouldn't want nothin' bad to happen," Greene said with a flicker of a smile. In that same breath and with that same smile he looked to Blink, "You're dead, Kid."

Without another word, he turned back into the shadows toward the street. His footsteps were joined by several more pairs as the darkness of the alley finally gave up what it had been hiding.

Greene's boys drifted by Blink and Spot one and two at a time, their attention only lingering long enough to remember faces for later.

Eight, nine. eleven, Blink counted. Eleven to two. Well, four if he counted Spot's boys who had yet to show themselves. Maybe Greene had found them, as he had hinted, and they were lying in pools of their own blood just out of sight. Blink would have never admitted it before than moment, but he hoped to God that Brooklyn was still alive.

Spot didn't seem at all uneasy, though. And if he felt threatened by the odds, he didn't show it. He simply watched them as they passed by.

Suddenly, it dawned on Blink.

Spot knew what the odds were. He knew they were there. He hadn't backed down, he'd prevented Greene from pounding them into pulp. And for all Spot's professed indifference to Blink's life, or lack of it, Blink just now noticed that Spot still stood between him and Greene's boys. In fact, he hadn't moved since the encounter began, putting himself between Blink and Greene and effectively keeping Blink out of the equation. Maybe there was a chance that Spot wasn't in it for himself, that he actually cared about other people's welfare.

Right. A snowball's chance in Hell.

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Jack sat on the bottom step of the stairs, resting his head against the railing as he stared out into the street.

He had told Race he would take care of it. He had told him not to worry. He might have said a few more things, but he couldn't trouble himself to remember. There was only one thing on his mind now.

He had a responsibility to Manhattan and tonight that meant doing something he never would have imagined doing. He had to keep Manhattan safe. There was no room for regret. There would be time for regret when it was over.

There was an unfamiliar tightness in his throat. He wouldn't let himself call it fear. Jack Kelly wasn't afraid of anything.

He closed his eyes.

It was fear.

Not a coward's fear. It was something different. It was the fear that, when it came down to it, he wouldn't be able to do what was needed of him. Jack put the thought away as quickly as it had come. He would keep Manhattan safe, it was his responsibility and he would not cast it off.

He rubbed the back of his neck absently as he went through the most likely places Blink would go. The Park, the roof across from Cole's Tailor, the foundry. . . the foundry. Jack reflexively smiled as he remembered that was where he and Blink had been caught by the bulls last year.

He didn't end up in the Refuge that time. Blink had put up enough of a fight to take the attention of both of the bulls, leaving Jack enough time to get away. Blink yelled for him to run. They both knew he was looking at a year if he was caught again so soon. So he ran. He looked back just in time to see three more bulls come around the corner with their clubs out.

Blink was in for six months, they wouldn't let him out until he could walk right again. Jack owed him for that. Blink never mentioned it, never once made him feel guilty for it. He still hadn't managed to pay Blink back yet.

Jack's smile faded quickly.

He couldn't do it. He wouldn't.

He put his head in his hands and let out a long breath.

He had to. Blink was a danger to them all.

Jack looked up as Snitch came in laughing, followed by a not-so-happy Snoddy. His clothes were soaking wet and he was cursing Snitch's mother under his breath along with threats of getting even. Normally the scene would have prompted a laugh, a joke, a smile, anything. But tonight he didn't see the humor; he didn't see anything but the means to an end.

"Snitch, come here a sec," Jack called him over.

"Yeah, Jack," Snitch stopped laughing long enough to give Jack his attention.

"You, ah…," Jack ran a quick hand through his hair, trying to make his question sound as casual as possible, "You still got that knife of yours?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Can I borrow it, I'll get it back to you tomorrow."

"Sure thing, Jack. Just don't lose it," Snitch said as he lifted the back of his shirt and pulled the blade from where it was hidden. "Everything okay?" he asked as he handed it to Jack.

"Yeah, I just gotta head downtown tonight. Don't want no trouble, that's all," Jack said. He took the knife and quickly tucked it out of sight.

It was a rare thing to feel threatened within the familiar streets they called their own. If you were smart about where you went, you wouldn't find much trouble you weren't looking for. But that didn't stop of few of the boys from keeping the odd knife, 'just in case.' Jack never had, he could usually talk his way out of anything and, if all else failed, he'd rather use his fists than a knife or a club. Tonight wouldn't be usual, though.

"You want me to go with you?" Snitch said, finally seeing a trace of the uneasiness Jack was hiding.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Thanks."

Snitch broke into a wide grin at the quick refusal. Jack was going out to see a girl. Probably headed toward the river. They had the cheapest ones, but there were more pickpockets in that small area than in all of Manhattan. No wonder he wanted a knife.

"Say, you want a drink before you head out? Specs has got a bottle of somethin' he's sharing," Snitch nodded over his shoulder toward the back table.

"Yeah, I think so," Jack said with a forced smile, "Something to keep me awake."

Something to stop the doubt.

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"How do you know him?" Blink asked. The fact he had just survived the last encounter and hadn't been beaten within an inch of his life, had given him a new found confidence that somebody up there liked him. He figured he'd better take advantage of what little luck life had finally decided to throw his way.

To Blink's surprise, Spot answered.

"We got a history," Spot said vaguely as he watched the last of the boys leave the alley and disappear across the street.

He asked the obvious, so he got the obvious. Blink couldn't say he was expecting anything else and he probably didn't really want to know. So, he left it alone. Besides he had more pressing concerns, like whether or not Spot still had a mind to kill him.

"Beat it," Spot said as tucked his cane back in his belt loop. Blink hadn't even opened his mouth. Perhaps his subtle attempt to slide further away along the wall had been less than subtle.

"We're square?"

"Yeah, we're square," Spot nodded, "I figure if Box has it in for you, then you ain't so bad after all."

Spot turned his back on the street, apparently no longer threatened by it. Blink felt his eyes on him once again, though there wasn't the same suffocating level of hostility that seemed to ooze out his ears only minutes ago. Spot responded to the wary look on Blink's face with a short laugh, "Besides, he'll get you sooner or later."

"Thanks," Blink muttered, not knowing if that was Spot's idea of a joke or if he was truly entertained with the thought.

"You musta done somethin' real big," Spot shook his head with a half-smile.

"Nothin' that big."

"Box don't come out to play much. He don't like to get his hands dirty. The fact he showed his self is something I'd write home about."

"Like I said, it ain't nothin'." Blink said.

"Sure, it ain't. " Spot humored him, "Where ya headed?"

"I'm leavin'," Blink said simply. He didn't want Spot to know where he was going and couldn't help but believe that Spot's interest could only be bad news. He figured he would try and get on a train to Boston or where ever else trains went. The farther the better.

"That ain't such a good idea."

"What's it to you?" Blink said, becoming more than a little suspicious of why Spot would care what he did, let alone being concerned enough to give him advice.

"It'll take you a couple of days to get out of the city. Greene ain't gonna sit and watch you go. The minute you step outta here, you're as good as dead," Spot said impatiently with a matter-of-factness that made Blink feel like an idiot for not thinking of it himself.

"Better sooner than later," Blink said, trying to sound at least somewhat confident. Being brash and stupid was better than being just plain stupid.

"Maybe you didn't hear me." Spot's impatience quickly turned to annoyance.

"Yeah, I heard ya."

"Then play it smart. Go back to your house. You need all the protection you can get."

"I can't," Blink said quickly. The images of Race's anger that came to mind were enough to deter him from even thinking about it.

"Tell you what," Spot said, reading into Blink's response almost as quickly as Blink was sorting it out in his own mind, "I'll talk wit your boy, let him know what's going on. He'll smooth things over with Higgins."

"What's in it for you?" Blink asked.

Spot didn't bristle at the flatness of Blink's tone. Business wasn't polite.

Without missing a beat, Spot told him exactly what he expected in return:

"You're gonna tell me everything you know about Greene."

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Next up: Blink returns, Jack's slightly drunk and Spot doesn't like admitting he's wrong.

Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed :0)

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Ler Shoutouts

BThank you! You rock in so many ways that the list I have complied is now five pages long :0) Jack is quite a tricksy fellow, but all for the greater good :0) Poor Race, but he will be redeeming himself in the near future wink

Pickles I bet he would if they were invented back then..maybe he invented them. Box's patented cutter, motto: "I'll cut you good." Hehe (disclaimer: I am not violent, the preceding has be the voice of an inside joke ;0) )

Jenn C Ack! Don't faint, hehe :0)I hope this wasn't too long of a wait and that you enjoyed. Race is definitely a star and needs his own trailer ;0) Thank you for your review and for reading!

Gothic Author Getting done, heheh. Slowly but surely. It will be finished and it's all finished in my mind, it's just that pesty writing thing. :0) Thank you so very much for your review, it made me positively gleeful :0)

Owl Haha, darn review monsters ;0) Thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy and let me know what you think about this chap :0) Thanks again!

Txmedic I loved your story, are you working on any more? Thank you for your review! I was actually deliberating over that chapter for months (no joke ;0) ) I am gleeful that you enjoyed it.

CaptKid Thank you! Here is a lovely update, gift wrapped for your reading pleasure, I hope you enjoyed!

Raeghann Hey there! Yes an update, and Spot is quite the drool boy ain't he? Hehe Thanks for reading I hope you continue to enjoy ;0)

Thistle Thank you so much! I definitely have a particular image of Spot in my mind temporarily distracted by image and am happy to hear that someone else shares that (great minds think alike, wink wink) Thank you again and I hope Spot continued to be Spot-eriffic in this chap ;0)

Just Groovy Wow! Thank you so much for all of your reviews! That really blew me away and was so encouraging. I really can't tell you how much all of your feedback meant to me and I'm so happy that you enjoyed it :0) I have eagerly been enjoying your story btw, and can't wait to see how it will all turn out. I hope you enjoyed this chap and thank you thank you thank you :0)

JP hug! I mean, cue music :0) Oh, a crown! Yes! Finally all my stealth posting as paid off! Mwahahahhah! It always puts a smile on my face when I get a review from you! hug

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As always, thank you for reading!

If you have a moment or two to spare, please let me know what you think. ( It makes my day :0) )


	13. Blink the Rat

The bottle came around again and he took a sip.

The taste hadn't gotten any better, but he wasn't drinking it for the taste.

Jack passed the bottle to Mush and tried to ignore the burning in his throat as it slowly disappeared.

He watched as the cards were passed over the table and a few spare cigarettes were thrown into the middle. He didn't have anything to bet, so he sat out. Cards wasn't his thing anyways. Besides, he couldn't afford to lose himself in a game. He had business.

'Business', he thought wryly. That is what it was to him now. That's what he convinced himself it was.

Jack watched Mush frown as he swallowed a sip from the bottle before passing it on. No, definitely not enjoyable. But it got the job done. When you bought it for a dime off a guy on the corner, you couldn't be picky.

It didn't taste good enough to drink slowly and there was never enough of it to pretend it was something to be enjoyed. There was really only one thing cheap liquor was good for, and, luckily, being drunk often made the taste disappear. You just closed your eyes, drank as much as you could as fast as you could, and hoped to God you could still see after.

"Jack, hurry it up." A voice reminded him that the bottle had found its way back to him again. He slid it past without taking anymore

"You're gettin' soft on us, Jack," Skittery laughed. His voice was just steady enough to convince a casual observer he was sober. He'd, in fact, had twice what everyone drank and was still going strong. If Jack had to take a guess, he'd say Skittery had been drinking since before he could walk. It would explain a few things.

"I got things to do tonight," Jack shrugged nonchalantly. Or at least he hoped it looked nonchalant. He sat back in his chair and hoped the haze of smoke and divided attention would keep anyone from noticing that he was anything but relaxed.

"Things like what?" Specs asked as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. He picked up his cards and looked at them with glossy eyes, not really listening for an answer.

"You gonna go teach Spot which side of the bridge is his?" Skittery said to an eruption of laughter and a few choice comments about Brooklyn. It probably wouldn't have been as funny if they were sober enough to realize it wasn't that good of a joke.

"You gonna get yourself a job polishin' Pulitzer's shoes?" Mush continued. There was more laughter.

"Maybe you'll show Blink how to throw a real punch, huh?" Specs said. There were some tentative laughs, but noticeably fewer than before.

"Shut up," Mush snapped.

"Geez, it was just a joke," Specs said defensively.

"Yeah, well it ain't funny," Mush said.

"Sorry," Specs said as he passed Mush the cigarette he had been smoking. Mush took it and nodded, accepting the apology with a drag on the end.

"Say, any of you bums been down to see that new store on the corner?" Dutchy asked in a clear attempt to change the subject.

As soon as it became clear there would be no trouble, Jack turned his attention away from the conversation and slid the bottle past him again. He watched Mush take a longer sip than before.

It was true you could forget if you drank enough of the stuff. But he only wanted to forget his fear and the regret that would keep him from going through with what he had to do. He didn't want to forget how his legs worked or his balance. He didn't want to forget how to speak properly or which streets to take.

If you drank enough you forgot everything. But in the end, you always remembered what had made you want to forget in the first place. That never went away, until you had more. He knew some people that lived from one day to the next like that, between ignorance and remorse. God knows, if he could afford it he might be tempted to as well.

"Hey Jack," a boy shouted for his attention from the other room.

"Hey what," Jack responded absently as he rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes. Maybe he hadn't stopped soon enough.

"Someone here to see ya," the boy responded.

"Tell'em I ain't here," Jack called back. His patience for conversation was gone and there was no telling if he could muster up enough restraint not to give whomever it was a black eye simply for existing.

He heard laughter from the table at this remark and a half-grin found its way to his mouth. It actually hadn't occurred to him that whoever was asking for him would hear his voice too and know that he was in. Not exactly at his most stealthy, but he credited the...the, what was it they were drinking again?

He asked Skittery as much, but all he got was a shrug and then a smile. It didn't matter really. Now, what was he thinking about before...

"Someone here to see ya, Jack," the boy said again, reminding Jack that he hadn't won his peace for the night after all.

Jack gave a frustrated sigh as he shoved his chair back from the table and stood. It wasn't like he was playing or still drinking, or that staring at the mole on Dutchy's neck was something he'd rather be doing, but for once, just once, he wished he could go five minutes without being responsible for something.

"If it's your mother, tell her I had a good time last night," Specs called after him. Jack waved off the laughter and catcalls that followed. He didn't dignify it with a response, that would have only started an night- long event of arguing whose mother was indeed less respectable. Not that there was a question, of course, Specs just didn't like admitting it.

Jack crossed the room, ruffling up his hair and putting on the best half- asleep, just woke up expression he could muster on such sort notice. If whoever the visitor was had even a shred of decency, they would suggest coming back at a reasonable hour and apologize for depriving him of his valuable sleep. All he wanted was for them to go away, the apology would be an added bonus, but one he could live without.

He turned the corner and stopped abruptly.

The color left his face as he set his jaw. His eyes became instantly alert and he tried to push any remaining haze from his mind.

He didn't know who he was expecting to find on the other side of the door, but he would have sooner thought to find himself face to face with his dear, sweet mother.

His eyes moved between Spot and Blink as he tried to force words from his mouth. He was speechless. He couldn't even find a place to focus the rage that was very quickly coming to the surface.

Spot had gone against his word, he had broken his promise. The lousy welsher. He should never have deluded himself into thinking he could trust Spot. He went after Blink, even after-

Jack's eyes quickly moved to Blink. He was barely able to contain the hate that rising inside of him.

Blink. The rat.

How dare he even think of coming back. He would be sorry. God, he would be sorry for ever messing with Manhattan.

Jack's hand brushed over his pocket, feeling the hard metal through the cloth. He would be ready when the opportunity came.

Blink stayed a clear distance away. He didn't trust the situation, Jack noted. That was the one smart thing he had done all day. For if he had been even remotely close to within arms reach, Jack would have had no qualms about soaking him in front of everyone they knew.

The situation being as it was, however, Jack silently crossed his arms, effectively barring the way. If there had been any doubt that they were unwelcome, it was now abundantly clear.

"What's this?" Jack said finally with equal measures of anger and disdain as he met Spot's eyes coldly.

"Let's go inside," Spot nodded to the door, unmoved by Jack's anger.

"No," Jack said flatly. There was no way he would allow a welsher like Spot in, let alone Blink.

"We gotta talk," Spot stated simply, as if that would be reason enough.

"Talk."

There was nothing Spot could cook up at this point that he would believe. He had broken his promise to stay away from Blink. Worse than that, he had brought him back.

"Nah," Spot said as he glanced sideways down the street, apparently concerned that someone else might be within earshot. "Inside."

"He ain't comin' any closer," Jack maintained, narrowing his eyes at Blink.

"You got somethin' to say to me?" Blink shot back.

Jack spit to the ground in front of him, "I got nothin' to say to you."

Spot held out his hand to stop Blink from moving.

"Inside, Jack," Spot said evenly as he took a step forward in an almost challenging move. But instead of threatening him, his voice lowered to a tone that only Jack could hear, "Trust me, alright?"

Jack snorted under his breath. Trust. That was rich.

"What do you got to lose? If you think he's it, then I'm bringin' him to you free of charge. Call it a favor," Spot said, keeping his voice down, "You invite me in, I'll call that a favor. We're even."

He had a point, Jack couldn't argue with that.

He didn't know what Spot wanted out of this, and there was no doubt in his mind Spot wanted something, but at the moment he couldn't see what it was. All he knew was that this spared him the trouble and danger of finding Blink on his own. Spot had done him a favor, even as much as he hated to admit it at the moment.

Jack glanced to Blink quickly. At least if he was inside, he would have nowhere to run.

Jack turned abruptly back into the house without another word.

Spot turned to Blink and nodded, indicating he should go first. Blink hesitated. It didn't seem like any kind of a welcome to him, but then again, he hadn't had to ask permission to enter his own house before.

"Keep your head cool," Spot said to him as he passed, "Whatever I told you, forget it. Things are different now. He thinks you're the rat."

It caught him off-guard, but Blink kept walking. He had been convinced Jack just thought it was a possibility, but didn't truly believe it. How could he? They had known each other too well. Besides, Jack didn't have any proof. Someone must have convinced him.

He had a good idea of who that someone was.

.-

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-

"Look what we got here," Specs let out a quiet whistle as he sat back from the table and gestured to the door.

Mush looked up from his cards to see Jack return with Blink and Spot not far behind. He hadn't expected to see Blink for a few days at least, and definitely not with Spot of all people.

To say Blink didn't look well off was a bit of an understatement. He still had the bruises and scrapes he had left with, but now there was slowness in his step, as if he was beyond exhaustion though still trying to hide it.

Mush opened his mouth to welcome Blink back, but something he saw in Jack's eyes made him think better of it.

"Hey, Blink," Dutchy greeted Blink as he nodded to Jack's former chair, "We gotta chair with your name on it."

"Yeah, have a drink, you ain't lookin' so good," Specs added good- naturedly.

"What's new?" Skittery made the obvious dig, in an attempt to break up the tension in the air. Those around the table laughed, expecting Blink to come back with something. He didn't. He kept walking without acknowledging they were there.

Jack gave the table a warning glance as he passed, which silenced them quickly.

Something wasn't right.

Mush looked to Dutchy, who could only offer a shrug as an answer.

Mush watched them as they crossed the room and disappeared into the small side room Jack and Spot had occupied earlier. Whatever was going on, Jack didn't want anyone else to see.

Something definitely wasn't right.

-

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-

"You think you got any right comin' back here?" Jack started even before the door had closed. He pushed past Blink, catching him squarely on the shoulder.

"Back off, Jack," Blink pushed back, his short temper getting shorter by the second.

Jack turned on him quickly. The way he stood there with the arrogance to be defensive was too much for Jack. Blink's unapologetic attitude and seeming indifference to what he had done... it was just too much.

Before Jack knew what he was doing, his hands had locked around Blink's neck. Instinctively, Blink tried to push him away, but given the fact he wasn't exactly steady on his feet to begin with, he couldn't match Jack's strength.

"Jack-" Blink managed as he struggled for enough breath to talk. The one word plea was cut short as he tried in vain to pry Jack's tightening fingers off.

The look on Blink's face was one of disbelief and utter shock, almost as if he didn't believe Jack was trying to choke him, even though he could certainly feel it.

What did Blink think he would do? Clap him on the back and wish him well?

"You think I wouldn't find out?" Jack asked with nothing but cold accusation and bitterness in his voice.

Blink glanced in Spot's direction, searching for some sort of intervention. Spot, however, had taken a chair in the corner and seemed more intent on lighting his cigarette than curbing Jack's anger.

"It's me you gotta worry about," Jack said as he caught the look, emphasizing his point by driving Blink forcefully back to the peeling paint of the wall. The thin wall shook, surprised voices filtering through from the other room.

For the second time that night, Blink found himself backed against a wall. But this time it was at the hands of a friend, a far more dangerous scenario. Jack was looking at him with an unforgiving intensity that left no room for understanding.

Their eyes met. Each a stranger to the other. A traitor. A friend willing to believe the worst. Both betrayed.

Jack realized the shock that was on Blink's face wasn't coming from the pain, it was coming from his disbelief that Jack would hurt him. There was also a desperate uncertainty to how Blink looked at him, how his fingernails were digging deeply into Jack's hands. It was almost as if he didn't know whether Jack would actually go through with it or not.

Blink was afraid.

Jack smiled to himself with satisfaction. He should be scared. He had never seen Blink afraid until just this moment. Not even when they had been caught snitching or cornered three to one.

Fear was something they would never admit to aloud. It was a sure sign of weakness and quick way to lose credibility. Blink managed to hide it as well as any of them, not being dumb enough to show it even if he felt it.

Jack felt fear as well. It was what held Blink by his throat and threatened to strangle him. It was also the whispering voice in Jack's mind that told him not to do it. But his fear didn't come from uncertainty. Unlike Blink, he knew how this would have to end.

"You're ...wrong," Blink choked out, "Jack.....wrong.

"Nice try, Kid," Jack dismissed the comment for what it was, an attempt to stall and get off the hook. Blink was always trying to weasel out of things, what made this any different. He wouldn't be getting out it this time, though. He had gone too far.

The thought of Blink continuing to outright lie to him, even after he had been found out, infused Jack with a new renewed sense of anger. He couldn't even be man enough to own up to what he did. Now that Blink was cornered, he was still trying to get out of what was coming to him.

"It's the truth," Blink said more fiercely as it became clear Jack was not even entertaining the possibility.

Jack let out a short laugh. If Blink wanted the truth, Jack would show it to him. He would show him what real consequences meant.

He freed one of his hands from Blink's neck and reached for his pocket.

"Jack," a voice said with a hint of uneasiness.

It was Spot. Jack had forgotten he was still in the room.

He ignored him, without so much as pausing as he grasped the handle. Spot didn't have any say in this.

"Jack, put it away," Spot said before Jack had even pulled the knife into the open.

"You stay out of it," Jack retorted coldly.

"That's enough," Spot warned him. He was standing now, his cigarette long since forgotten.

"You either shut up or get out," Jack said with more than just a casual threat to his voice.

"You're gonna listen to what I gotta say first," Spot said evenly.

Jack clenched his fist around the handle of the knife, but didn't pull it out. There was no good reason why he should've listened to Spot, but Jack wasn't exactly operating on reason at the moment. "Talk fast."

With deliberate slowness and a wisp of a smile on his face, Spot spoke, "He ain't it."

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A/N:

"Welsher" (also seen as "welcher")- slang from mid 19th cen, meaning (paraphrasing) someone who breaks a deal in a not nice way.

Anyone know any good period slang? I have become fascinated and must put more in!

Up next: laughs maniacally You'll just have to wait and see.  
Thank you for reading! And if you get a chance, please let me know what you think :0) .

Ler Shoutouts:

Just Groovy Yea tension! I had no clue if I pulled it off semi-decently, but I am so glad that it came across. I love reading what you pick up on, it makes writing the details so much more fun. Thank you for your lovely review, my dear. They make me so happy to read :0) I hope you liked this chapter !

Danielle Thank you for reading and for your review :0)

B Hehe, Blink might not be getting to sleep as soon as expected....and the bad week is far from over....( I really shouldn't be giggling madly when I type that, never a good sign) On an unrelated note: You totally rock ( I have to say that at least once a shoutout or it just doesn't feel complete ;0) )

Gothic Author I actually typed "Gothic Auror" first (I think I've been exposed to a little too much Harry Potter ;0) ) Hehe intrigue is uber good for the soul, especially when newsie related ;0) More definitely coming soon...and I mean it this time ;0)

Owl Haha, yes, quite like Spot.very perceptive. More will come out about them, but not much more with Greene in person, that was his big scene. Thank you for your wonderful reviews, I hope you like this chapter, let me know what you think :0)

Braids Well thank you! I always read stories and swear I review them and then find out I didn't. I think it is the work of stealthy review stealers. :0) I hope you enjoyed the update!

Jenn C Anything I want? Excellent. Thank you for your kind words, as always :0)

GCRoxmySox- Hehe, I won't be stopping mwhahahah cough cough I have to stop laughing maniacally, it's hard on the lungs ;0) Thanks for letting me know how you liked the story, I hoped you like this chappie.

Plaidnsuspendahs Well thank you :0) BTW, would your name be in reference to out favorite short newsie? That rocks :0) Thank you so much for reviewing. I hope you enjoyed the update!


	14. Jack Pays

Jack couldn't believe what he was hearing. He would have laughed if his teeth weren't gritted.

After starting this whole mess, Spot was changing his tune. Jack couldn't say he was surprised. Spot had a habit of complicating everything he touched, twisting it into whatever would benefit him most.

If Race's story hadn't backed up Spot, he might have been tempted to let Blink go, to sort it out in a calm and civilized manner. But he had come too far to be swayed. It was too late to second guess and any shred of civility had left him long ago.

"And why should I believe that?" Jack questioned him.

"'Cause it's the truth," Spot said with a finality that seemed to indicate there was no other explanation needed.

"That don't mean nothin' coming from you."

"Maybe not," Spot said coolly, "But it is what it is."

Spot left it at that and didn't say another word. He watched Jack carefully, waiting for him to make a move.

Jack's grip wavered too slightly to be noticed by anyone but himself. He couldn't ignore Spot, as much as he wanted to.

He couldn't believe Spot, not now. Not after all this. Doubt had come back into his mind after he had fought so hard to remove it. His hand slipped again. He was holding more of Blink's shirt than his neck now. His gut told him to let Blink go. He couldn't. He didn't know what to trust.

Jack tore his attention from Blink and looked at Spot narrowly. He was listening.

"Greene wanted him to rejoin. He didn't. I seen it with my own eyes," Spot said, "He's loyal. That much I can say. Ain't too bright, but he ain't no rat. It's up to you, do what you want."

It was Spot's word against Race's.

Spot's story could fit with whatever Race saw to convince him. It could explain why someone might have seen Blink talking with Greene. More importantly, it meant Blink was loyal, it meant he could be trusted. It meant this night could be forgotten and that they could go back to selling papers tomorrow. It meant Jack could have one less nightmare haunt him when he closed his eyes.

He wanted it to be true. He needed it to be true.

Jack looked back at Blink, "That true? Is that how it happened?"

"Yeah," Blink said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jack watched him carefully as he responded, trying to find something that would tell him truth. He saw only Blink. No lies, no defense. Just Blink.

All at once, his hand released Blink's throat.

Blink began coughing almost uncontrollably as the air surged back into his lungs. Jack held his shoulder to the wall to keep him from doubling over.

Spot nodded in silent approval. Jack ignored it. It was a mistake to ever trust Spot.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Jack asked as Blink regained enough of his breath to speak. His tone wasn't apologetic. He would not say he was sorry. He had done what was right and Blink would understand that.

"I ain't told no one about it. It's my business, ain't nobody else's."

"You see this?" Jack said, holding the knife out plainly for him to see, "This is my business."

"Shit, Jack."

Any doubt that Jack would have gone through with it was dispelled in an instant. Blink regarded him with a renewed sense of uncertainty, as if he had never truly known Jack until this moment.

"Stupid, Blink. Real stupid." Jack released him with a shove. He wouldn't have done it. God help him. He couldn't have.

Jack put the knife out of sight once again and righted a chair that had been knocked over, "Sit down."

With his hand still over his neck, Blink eyed Jack cautiously and sat down.

Jack leaned against the back wall and willed his heart to stop beating so fast. He crossed his arms to hide the fact his hands were shaking. He couldn't let Spot see that.

"He wants your boy dead," Spot said, his tone back to business as he took his seat once again. The situation was resolved enough for his needs.

"Why?'

"Bad blood," Spot shrugged, not interested in reasons.

"Who was it, Jack?" Blink asked.

Jack didn't answer. He only glanced at Blink long enough to shake his head. Now was not the time.

"He's on guard now, won't try nothing risky," Spot continued as if Blink hadn't spoken.

"Was it Race?"

"He won't want no witnesses, use it to your advantage."

"Jack," Blink started again, not one to be ignored.

Spot cleared his throat. He wasn't used to being interrupted and apparently didn't like it.

"No," Jack said sharply to any and all questions Blink asked, implied or was thinking about asking. Blink didn't look satisfied, but held back anything else he might have said. He wasn't dropping it, there was no way in hell he would leave something like that alone, but at least he got the message not to pursue it in front of present company.

"You think Greene's done with this?" Jack turned and asked Spot, grateful to have something -anything- else to focus his attention on.

Spot shrugged, "He might forget about it for awhile, but he ain't done. Who knows, we might even be able to get him out in the open."

"No, Kid's out of it, you get to Greene another way," Jack said flatly. Blink gave him a nod in thanks, which Jack returned. It was an important gesture for Jack to make. Their existence was based on a certain level of trust, a trust that had been shattered in the space of an hour. Jack was showing Blink he was back in the fold.

"It's an opportunity, Jack. One I wouldn't walk away from if I was you," Spot persisted, making it clear he wasn't merely suggesting a possible course of action. No doubt Spot had worked out a master plan with Blink as the linchpin and, by the unamused way Spot was looking at him, Jack could tell he was singled-handedly fouling it up.

"Who does he belong to? You or me?" Jack said, "Use one of yours as bait."

"He don't want one of mine."

"He wants you don't he?"

Spot didn't answer, but he couldn't quite suppress the half-smile that found it's way to his lips. At least it told Jack what Spot was after in playing Good Samaritan. He wanted a fall guy not named Spot.

At least Spot had a back-up plan, or at least that's what Jack reasoned. If the success of bringing down Greene lay solely on Blink, he wouldn't have abandoned the argument so quickly.

Spot let the silence hang in the room for only a moment before he turned to Blink.

"Say, why don't you take off," Spot said, indicating the door with only the slightest movement of his finger.

Maybe he hadn't given up after all.

Blink looked to Jack for agreement. When Spot said 'jump' he wasn't going to ask how high.

"Yeah, get some sleep," Jack said, offering Blink a hand up. Blink took it and pulled himself to his feet with a bit of effort.

"Who was it, Jack?" Blink asked in a low tone as he stood. Jack glanced away and let go of Blink's hand. This time the question was pointed and would not be ignored. He looked back at Blink and met his eyes so that there would be no uncertainty in the answer.

"No one. It was a mistake, my mistake. Race had no part in it. If you need to settle anything, you settle it with me. If your gonna take a swing at anyone, it'd better be at me. You understand?"

Blink wasn't satisfied, but nodded. He had a look in his eye that Jack had seen too many times to count. As he moved to the door, Jack caught his arm.

"No trouble, Blink. I mean that."

"I know."

Jack stepped aside and opened the door wide enough for him to pass.

-

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When the door opened, all Blink was aware of was the quietness and the eyes staring at him. As he stepped out of the room, all attention intentionally turned away from him and conversations picked up once again.

No one would say anything and he was grateful for that. No one mentioned the serious stuff. Life was too serious already.

"He can stay," he heard Jack say quietly to someone near the door, probably Mush. He turned his head to see them exchange a silent look before Jack closed the door. He knew what that meant. He had been the subject of more knowing glances than he would care to admit and they all meant the same thing: Keep him out of trouble.

Maybe tomorrow they would have to worry, but tonight all he could manage was keeping one foot in front of the other. As he reached the stairs, he felt a hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he began to climb.

"How you doin', Kid?"

It was Mush.

"Doin' fine," he replied with the steadiness his legs seemed to lack at the moment.

"Take my bunk, alright?" Mush offered.

"Thanks," Blink nodded. Part of that favor was the fact Mush had a bottom bunk and he wouldn't have to manage climbing up to his. The more important part was that it was as far away from Race's as possible. If Blink was lucky, he would be able to get in and out in the morning without running into him. He promised Jack there would be no trouble and he wanted to keep his word.

As odd as it seemed, he realized he had nothing against Jack for what had happened. True, he wasn't as sure about him as he used to be, but he understood where Jack was coming from. In the same situation, Blink knew he would have been compelled to do the same thing. In a way, Blink had to respect Jack for being so loyal to Manhattan.

Race. Race, however, was another story.

He gave him up so easy. And even though Jack wouldn't admit it, Blink knew that was the case. Race was only too willing to pass on what he saw, misconstrued as it was, even though he knew what the outcome would be.

In theory, Blink couldn't be angry with Race for that, just like he couldn't be angry at Jack for doing what he did. It was what anyone loyal would have done. But it still didn't sit right with him.

He didn't even give him a day. Not one day before he gave him up.

Race knew Blink better than Jack, better than probably anyone else did. Even so, he was the first to believe the worst. Race didn't give him the benefit of the doubt, or a chance to work it out. Hell, he was only trying to keep Race out of it…

It was the fact Race didn't stand by him when it counted that really got him.

Blink reached the top of the steps, stopping only long enough to get his bearings.

"Jack said he could stay," Mush said to someone in the washroom. He prompted Blink to keep walking.

There was only one person who would care if he was back or not, so he didn't bother to look and see Race standing in the doorway. He heard a short exchange between the two as he felt his way down the line of bunks in the dark. He only caught the last remark, which was clearly directed at him.

"Fuck that. You keep him away from me."

"Fuck you, Race," Blink shot back. It was taking all his remaining energy not to clock Race, so he felt one parting jab wasn't exactly causing 'trouble.'

He instinctively tensed. He waited for Race to barrel across the room and jump him, but it didn't come. Mush was talking to him calmly, telling him to leave it alone, to wait, to sleep it off. It didn't seem to be working too well. There were more heated words, but those gradually subsided as Mush kept talking. Blink waited until Race's voice had calmed down before he kicked off his shoes and fell onto the mattress. Mush was still trying to get Race to back off as Blink slipped off his eye-patch and propped a pillow under his head.

At least Race was getting his. It must have been killing him to be under the same roof as his 'traitor' and not being able to do a damn thing about it. He earned it. After all the crap Blink had gone through because Race couldn't keep his big mouth shut, Race deserved a sleepless night.

He only wished he could be there when Race found out the truth.

The last thing he heard before drifting off was the sound of someone out on the fire escape and the window slamming shut.

-

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Jack was out the door of the lodging house early the next morning. It was early enough that he could see his breath faintly in the chilled air and hear his footsteps against the street. He hadn't gotten much sleep, but that wasn't so unusual.

He tucked in his shirt as he walked and buttoned it up to the collar. He had slept in his clothes last night, anticipating he'd be woken up at any moment. As it turned out, the night was quiet. There were no fights, no drunks, no cops and no Box Greenes. From what he'd heard, someone stole Snitch's shoes, Race left and hadn't come back, and Blink slept like a baby. There had been a 'run in', as Mush put it, but no blood. Words and nothing else.

If that was all he had been worried about, he would have slept easily.

What Spot had told him last night after Blink had left was not a comforting thought. Greene had made his way deep into Manhattan with a small army and without being seen. And, as Spot so thoughtfully reminded him, if Greene could do it once, he could do it again.

The problem was nobody knew what the kid even looked like. Jack would have to start spreading the word for everyone to be on the look out for new faces with…what did Spot say? A brown hat. Yeah, _that_ would narrow the field.

At least he knew Blink was on Greene's list. Whoever was looking for him would have to ask questions. Someone asking around for Blink wouldn't be too hard to watch out for.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Greene wouldn't have to ask any questions. Spot was still convinced there was a rat, someone helping Greene silently gather information on both Manhattan and Brooklyn. But then again, Spot was paranoid.

That possibility had kept him awake the longest. It was a real and dangerous scenario that hadn't gone away simply because Blink was no longer suspect. Time was growing short and he was no closer to figuring out what was going on.

Spot was planning something big, but hadn't let Jack in on it. At least, that's what Jack figured. Spot had been calm last night, calmer than usual. He only got that way when his ducks were in a row and the pressure was off.

Jack decided he would not be one of Spot's ducks this time around. If he worked with Spot, it would be with him and not for him. That was the only way Manhattan would get a fair shake out of the deal. He wasn't going to stand by and watch them all be sacrificed for the greater glory of Brooklyn.

Spot hadn't stayed long when it became clear Jack wasn't going to play by his rules. When he stood to leave and offered Jack his hand, Jack didn't take it. If Jack ever deluded himself into trusting Spot, the illusion was over.

"You need me, Jack. Make no mistake about that," Spot had said simply before disappearing through the door.

He had to put Brooklyn out of his mind. As much as he knew he couldn't forget about them completely, he had to focus his energy on the present and the people who depended on him. He needed to keep Blink safe and he needed to keep everyone else safe in the process.

Blink needed someone nearby. Jack got the impression, no matter what Spot said, that Greene wouldn't wait on Blink. To back off simply because Spot was involved would show his supporters that he wasn't ready to take on Brooklyn. It would be a matter of principle to finish Blink off and it would be a feather in his hat to do it behind Spot's back and under Jack's nose.

That's why Blink needed someone to watch his back, at least until things cooled off. Blink wouldn't want it and he definitely wouldn't like it. To his dying day, he would never ask for help. Jack could only hope that coming close to that day several times in the past week would shelf some of Blink's pride.

Jack would ask Mush to go. Mush could talk Blink into liking anything. More importantly, Mush could fight. Jack would have gone himself, but he didn't want to tip Greene off just yet. He wanted him to think he was still operating unnoticed. He didn't know if it would be an advantage, but he had to keep as much of this under his control as possible. He had the feeling it would all go to hell anyway, but he would rather know when and how than leave it up to chance.

Up the block, Jack caught sight of Mush standing on the corner and waiting to cross.

"Hey Mush!" Jack called ahead. Mush looked over his shoulder and stopped as he saw Jack. He finished his cigarette as Jack jogged to catch up.

"How ya doin'?" Mush nodded.

"Good enough. How 'bout you? You sleep good?" Jack asked with his normal amount of good humor.

"Pretty good," Mush replied. No one could pretend like nothing was wrong like Jack could. It was as if last night never happened, which was probably the idea.

"Say, Mush, could I ask you a favor," Jack said as they started walking.

"What's on your mind?"

Jack didn't answer for the few moments it took them to get around a pushcart that had gotten stuck in a pile of garbage on the street. It was with more than a little reluctance that he would ask this of Mush. He knew Mush would agree to it even if he didn't want to do it.

"Well, I was thinking', if you could spare a day, maybe you wouldn't mind sellin' down by Blink."

It was a big thing to ask. Mush would have to give up his spot and his customers and take his chances that he would make back anything.

"He ain't gonna like that, Jack," Mush laughed.

"That's why I ain't tellin' him."

"What'd he do this time?"

"Some boys been givin' him trouble. They don't seem to wanna lay off," Jack shrugged, explaining in deliberately broad terms. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Mush what was going on, it was just better that as few people knew as possible.

"Yeah, alright," Mush nodded, accepting both the request and explanation. He didn't mind helping Blink out, it wouldn't be the first time and he wasn't expecting it would be the last.

"Thanks, I owe you one," Jack clapped a hand on Mush's back in sincere gratitude.

"You better not forget it. I could buy half of Brooklyn with what you owe me.

"What about what you owe me?"

"Nah, ya see, all this shit you have me do cancels it out. I don't owe you nothing."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, maybe this," Mush grinned and took a light swing at Jack, but instead of hitting him he lifted Jack's hat and took off running with it.

"You little-" Jack broke into a run after him, dodging anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path.

There was already a lengthy line forming around the gates at Distribution. Apparently it wasn't as early as he thought, either that or his idea of 'early' was everyone else's idea of 'on time'.

Mush slowed down enough to avoid colliding into the iron gates before cutting through the line. He ducked behind Dutchy, using him as a shield against Jack's attempts to get his hat back.

"Say Dutchy, you wanna eat lunch with us? Jack's payin'," Mush said with an even wider grin.

"What?" Jack dropped his hands and forgot about his hat for the moment.

"Sure," Dutchy agreed before Jack could refuse, "Hey Specs, Jack's payin', you want lunch?"

"Hey, wait a minute," Jack protested half-heartedly. It was already too late.

"Yeah, and Skittery wants in to," Specs called from further up the line.

"Thanks, Jack!" Skittery shouted back, "And Snitch says thanks too!

"You better start runnin'," Jack warned Mush.

Mush shrugged innocently, "You said you owed me."

"Yeah, I guess I did," Jack said, missing entirely that Mush had passed off his hat to Dutchy.

"For what?" Dutchy asked as he slipped Jack's hat to Snipeshooter.

"For…" Jack thought quickly," For puttin' in a good word for this girl…"

Dutchy rolled his eyes, "Fine don't tell me."

"No really," Jack said, following the movement of his hat out of the corner of his eye. "She's a real beaut. She's got all her teeth and everything."

Jack took advantage of the subsequent laughter to snatch his hat from Snipeshooter's hands. There was a large bend in the brim that wasn't there before and Jack tried in vain to flatten it back to its prior perfection. They had ruined his hat. They'd always been jealous of his hat.

"Run," Jack said to Mush, "I'll give you a head start. Go, I ain't even lookin'."

"So, Jack. What's this I hear about lunch?" A voice said from the back of the line.

Jack gave Mush a parting glare and jammed his misshapen hat back on as he stalked off toward the front of the line, ignoring the laughter that followed him.

-

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Mush didn't have the faintest idea where Blink was selling these days. He had asked around, but even the most solid information had only given him a general idea of where to look. Mush hadn't left his own spot in years, not being one to mess with a good thing, but Blink liked to move around every so often.

The last boy Mush had asked had pointed him to this particularly congested side street. It seemed to be a smart choice for a spot and Mush was beginning to think his financial prospects for the day wouldn't be as dim as he anticipated. That, however, all depended on finding Blink.

Mush had been milling up and down the street for a good half-hour before he finally caught sight of Blink. He didn't seem to be selling, but rather on his way to somewhere he would set up for the day. That didn't stop a passing businessman from buying a paper off of him, a delay that allowed Mush to catch up enough to be within earshot.

"Wait up," Mush called to Blink as he shouldered his own stack of papers and threaded his way through the few remaining people that separated them.

"You get lost or something?" Blink glanced over his shoulder at Mush as he kept walking. It wasn't exactly a warm welcome.

"Just thought I'd try sellin' down here for a change," Mush shrugged. It didn't take much to see Blink wasn't buying it. He gave a Mush an irritated glare that told him to cut the act.

Mush couldn't help laughing to himself and angled his papers in front of his face so Blink wouldn't see the smile. Blink couldn't hide any emotion. If he was annoyed, everyone knew it. If he was happy, everyone knew it. If he was angry, everyone and their brother knew it. He was honest like that. Of course, that very quality had probably gotten him into whatever problem he was dodging this week.

"Jack's idea?" Blink asked with no real question in his voice. He knew why Mush was there and he didn't like it.

"He thought it'd be a good idea."

"What, you cuttin' into my business?"

"Don't ever lose your charm, Blink. It's a gift," Mush said with intentional sarcasm as he took in the surroundings for a good spot to set up.

"You can go back and tell him to forget it. I can take care of myself," Blink said, blowing passed an older woman who was holding out a penny and had no doubt expected a paper. Mush lifted his hat to the woman in brief apology as he passed.

"Yeah, and look what good it's done you," Mush shot back.

Blink stopped mid-step and turned to face Mush. Annoyance had just become anger.

Mush had hit the money on that one, but wasn't regretful for saying it. Blink wasn't one to take criticism gracefully, especially when it was justified. A fool could see the mess Blink had made. And, whatever was going on, Blink had done a piss-poor job of fixing it. The sooner he woke up and realized he needed a hand, the sooner they could all go back to minding their own business.

"This is my spot," Blink said finally, indicating the corner they had abruptly stopped on, "If you plan on stayin', you better find somewhere else."

That was as good of an invitation as he was going to get from Blink at this point. A smart person would have gladly taken the extra set of eyes and rested easier for the day. This, however, was Blink.

Mush let it go, same as always. And Blink looked at him with a faint sense of guilt, same as always.

"You know how it is," Blink said, attempting to take the edge off his earlier tone, "I gotta milk this for all its worth." He gestured to the bruises on his face as he took out a cigarette. Every possible avenue to illicit pity had to be taken advantage of to the fullest. A black eye could sell five extra papers and it was reasonable not to want any more selling competition.

Mush nodded, " Yeah, I know how it is." He appreciated the attempt Blink was making to crawl out of his bad mood, even though he could tell he was still an unwanted presence.

"Excuse me. Excuse me, young man." A rather prim-looking woman tapped a gloved finger on Mush's shoulder. "One newspaper, please."

"Sure thing, lady," Mush handed her a paper and waited for the coin that dropped into his hand. It was a nickel and he made only a token attempt to call her back. Money was money and, in his opinion, he was in more need of it than her.

"Look at you," Blink said, giving the nickel a glance, "You're here five minutes, you make five cents. I won't point out that was my sell. I also won't point out that was my nickel."

Mush rolled his eyes and handed it to Blink. Blink gave him a paper to replace the one sold and a cigarette to make up the difference.

"I'll be down a block. Find me when you wanna eat," Mush told him and tucked the cigarette behind his ear.

"You payin'?" Blink asked over his shoulder as he sold another paper.

"Jack is," Mush said with a smile that Blink didn't understand.

"Thank you, sir," Blink said, pocketing a penny, "Yeah? Alright, I'll find you."

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It was as if life had finally decided to cut him a break. It could have been the bruises or the fact the headline featured two variations of the word 'insane,' but whatever the reason, business was good and he was going to enjoy it. The sun was still beating down on his neck and the garbage in the street still stunk worse than the Delancys, but even that couldn't keep him down.

A weight had been lifted from him.

This was the first day in the past few weeks that he hadn't had to look over his shoulder every few minutes. It was the first day he hadn't had to ditch selling to avoid being out in the open too long. That was all behind him. At least for now.

Even Spot had admitted Greene would back off for awhile. He said Greene didn't make plans or take action quickly. From what Blink had seen, he did both on a regular basis, but he wasn't about to correct Spot on it. It was a long time since he was in a position to see Greene's mind at work and, for all he knew, Greene had become cautious in his old age.

Either that or Spot wanted him to relax enough to go off guard. It was a good thing he trusted Spot as far as he could throw him or he might have been tempted to relax.

Blink glanced down the street to the next corner where Mush had set up. It wasn't far enough away to be the most profitable for either of them, but to go any further would have put them out of eyesight. As much as he didn't want to admit it, it was nice having someone keep an eye out. It meant he could kick back and let the money roll in. No more half-eaten sandwiches from the trash. Tonight he was eating in style, with a plate and everything.

From what he could tell Mush had been making out pretty good too. Considering he spent most of his time scanning the street traffic for trouble, Blink found it amazing he sold anything at all. Maybe people mistook his watchful eye as the erratic gaze of a lunatic orphan. It might explain the fact Mush had been getting more pitiful expressions, not that he was keeping track of course.

It was almost noon when he felt a nudging at his elbow. He turned, expecting to find a cop trying to move him along, but instead looked down to find a small boy staring back at him with purpose clearly written on his face.

"You gotta minute?" the boy asked.

"Depends who's askin'," Blink responded, giving him little more than a glance. He didn't have time for sob stories and wasn't about to be taken in by a pick pocketing twerp.

"A friend of yours."

"Look kid, I don't know you. So do me a favor and scram, ok?"

"Not me," the boy corrected him, "Him over there."

Blink looked in the direction the boy pointed with only half-interest. As he scanned the corner, the boy bounded back into the crowd. Blink's hand went to his pockets, making sure his money was still accounted for. Finding it was, he glanced back to the street. If this was Mush's idea of joke, it wasn't funny.

It was only a moment before he met Greene's eyes.

And everything was going so well.

He had the presence of mind to keep searching the faces of the crowd as Greene gestured for him to approach. He knew Greene wouldn't be fooled, but it gave him a few extra seconds to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

Greene had proven himself much bolder than Blink ever anticipated. There he was, as plain as day, in the middle of Manhattan. He was standing next to a cop for God's sake.

Blink pulled his hat down to cover more of his face and sank into the street traffic. He knew enough to walk slowly. Nothing said 'arrest me' like running down a block at full speed. A call of 'thief' went up from somewhere down the street and he took advantage of the momentary confusion to change directions and disappear further between the buildings and people. He was trying to make it back to Mush without being obvious about it.

As much as he wanted to leave Mush out of it, he couldn't leave him behind. He had no idea how long Green had been watching, and chances were he had seen Mush and him together.

Blink tried to get Mush's attention at a distance, to no avail.

Mush was talking with a girl in the window of the building he was selling in front of. She was leaning out to hang her laundry to dry and had dropped a piece. Mush had thrown it back up and was now reaping the rewards of her gratitude. Blink finally stepped between the exchange of bashful smiles and thickly veiled comments.

"Mush, let's go."

"I'll be with ya, hang on a sec," Mush waived him off and looked back up to the window to finish his conversation.

"We gotta go, now," Blink didn't wait for an answer as pushed Mush ahead of him into the crowd.

"What's the matter with you?" Mush pulled his arm free and planted his feet.

They didn't have time for this. Blink looked over his shoulder, making sure there was no one following them before he pulled Mush to sidewalk.

"You see that kid standing next to the lamp post back there?"

"Yeah, I think so," Mush said, straining to get a clear line of sight through the people and carts that were constantly moving, "Why? What'd you do? You didn't steal nothin' from him, did you? He's standing next to a cop for God's sake."

"I didn't do nothin' to him," Bink said defensively.

Mush picked up on the seriousness in his voice and couldn't help but notice the way he kept glancing back the way they had come. It didn't long for him to put two and two together

"He the one botherin' you?" Mush asked. He took another look at the boy in question, this time with a more critical eye that seemed to be sizing him up.

"Him and a few of his friends."

"So let's go back and take'im while he's alone."

He ain't alone," Blink said, pointing to a spot further up the block and then to the doorway of a building they just passed. "You see them?"

Mush saw them. There was one boy at each spot that seemed to fit in just fine, except for the fact they were watching him and Blink very intently. It was too intent for any casual passerby.

"What's this about, Blink?" Mush asked as Blink started them walking again. He was getting the impression this wasn't a conflict of the normal variety. It wasn't some kid looking for a quick shot at revenge, it was a setup and a well thought out one at that.

Blink kept his voice low, "You ever hear of a Box Greene?"

"Tell me you ain't serious," Mush looked at him as if he had just thrown a cat off the Brooklyn Bridge, "Greene. Fucking Box Greene?" He tried to get another glimpse of the boy, but they were moving to fast.

"So what's the plan? You wanna hide out somewhere or what?" Mush seemed considerably more concerned now that he knew who was after them.

They passed a run-down tenement and Blink ducked through a large hole in the gate and led Mush around the back of the building.

"I figure if we can get in here, we can give'em the slip. I've gone in here plenty of times, the people inside will cover for us."

With its maze of dark hallways and staircases, it would be easy to lose anyone that was following them. The clotheslines, screaming babies and harried housewives would be an added benefit and a sure diversion on the off-chance they were seen.

"Try that door, I'll get this one," Blink said once they had reached the back. It was as well hidden entrance between the neighboring buildings, one that couldn't be seen from the street. Once they were in, no one would be able to find them.

"Rusted shut," Mush said after he had given it his best shot.

"Same here."

"Any more bright ideas?" Mush asked as he glanced back toward the street.

"I'm thinking."

"Think faster," Mush backed up a step as his eyes found what they were looking for.

Blink turned when he heard the footsteps. Footsteps. He had never felt so defeated at the sound of something so common.

"It just ain't your day, is it Kid?" Greene's voice responded lightly.

"Ditch your papers," Blink said quietly to Mush as he tossed his own to the ground.

He knew they wouldn't be talking their way out of this one.

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A/N: Thank you for you patience on this chapter :0) I hope you enjoyed!

And thank you to all who have been reading, especially B, Spotlover421, Altertum, The Second Batgirl, Saddie, Gothic Author, Cat, ravenclawer, and Tuesday. Also to Pickles for being beta-rrific.


	15. Let's Make a Deal

Jack had sold a paper here and there, but nothing that could have been mistaken for hard work. He was keeping an eye out for Race, though he wasn't too hopeful about finding him. Race had a tendency to disappear when he wanted to, occasionally for weeks at a time.

Jack hoped this wouldn't be one of those times. He had to sort Race out before any rumors got started about Blink.

He came to an intersection of two nearly empty streets and scanned what few people there were. He didn't see Race, but he did see Snitch. Apparently, Snitch was making an attempt at an honest day's work. But, it couldn't be coincidence he had set up in clear view of several unattended storefronts. Jack whistled and caught his attention.

"Race?" he shouted across the square.

"Track!" Snitch yelled back, pointing in the direction of Sheepshead.

Jack waived in thanks and headed towards the track. He hoped he wasn't too far behind Race. He wanted to catch him before he hopped the streetcar. If he didn't, it would be all but impossible to find him in the crowds that flocked to Coney Island on a day like this.

He didn't have to go far before he reached the stop where Race usually jumped on. There was no sign of him and the kids in the area said they hadn't seen him that morning. Jack gave up the search after awhile and turned back the way he had come.

Jack had to move aside quickly to avoid a direct collision with an idiot that wasn't looking where he was going. As soon as he regained his balance, Jack got a better look at the offender. It was Race.

Race didn't seem to notice him, not looking up from the sport's page as he kept walking.

"Hey, Race. Don't you got eyes?" Jack asked jokingly, testing Race's mood.

Race briefly glanced at Jack before he returned to his reading. Definitely not in a good mood.

"You gotta minute? I need to talk to you 'bout somethin'," Jack said, keeping up with Race as he continued to walk.

"I'm goin' to the track," Race said as he folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm, "The minute I spend with you could lose me a dollar. I got a sure thing here."

Race spoke without the normal enthusiasm that accompanied the prospect of easy money. He looked worn, like he hadn't slept much.

"This is important," Jack said. He wasn't put off by Race's blatant refusal to talk with him, he had expected as much.

"So's this race," Race countered.

"It's about Blink."

"So what?" Race returned with annoyance at the mention of Blink's name, "Half the stuff that goes on around here is about him. He's more trouble than he's worth."

Jack couldn't argue with that. He knew he wouldn't get Race to talk with him, not when he was like this. It was something Jack had anticipated from the beginning and already had a solution for.

"Look, you give me ten minutes of your time and I'll give you a tip on somethin' worth more than a dollar," Jack said, "A guaranteed double return."

"What do _you_ got a tip on that I don't know about?"

"Cards."

"Where? Who's playin'?" Race looked at him suspiciously. He knew all the players and the games and there were none with odds like that.

"You and me, wherever you want."

"You don't play cards, Jack. You always lose." Race dismissed the idea and gave Jack an irritated look for wasting his time.

"Like I said, guaranteed double return," Jack said with a half-smile, "Come on, you got nothing to lose."

Race hesitated. He wasn't one to give up odds like that and Jack knew it.

* * *

"Don't bend'em," Race warned as he handed Jack the deck of cards.

Jack took the deck with one hand and slipped off his hat with the other. He placed his hat brim-up on the stairs they were using as a playing surface.

"How much?" Jack asked, shuffling the deck.

Race put a dime in the hat.

"That's it?"

"It's a fair bet," Race said as he took the cards Jack dealt him, "You better start talkin'. You got nine minutes."

Jack matched Race's bet and tossed a dime in the hat. Picking up his hand, he only gave the cards a brief look, not expecting to win anyways.

"You know the thing we was talkin' about last night?" Jack started. He took a quick look around to make sure no one was close enough to hear. Race gestured for him to hurry up and deal the rest of the hand.

"Well, it's kinda like this," Jack continued, "He ain't what you thought, well, he ain't what I thought he was. It turns out it was a mistake."

"Yeah? Ain't that sweet. He's got a real heart of gold," Race said as he put down his cards, "Ace kicker, I win."

Jack looked down at his own cards, he hadn't really been paying attention.

"Is that it? Or do you feel like losin' more?" Race said as he gathered the cards.

Jack pushed his cards over to Race and put another dime into the hat. Race matched it and began shuffling.

"Look, it's true. There's e-evi-," Jack paused, there was a word for it, "-_Evidents_ sayin' so."

"Speak English," Race said.

"Spot backed'em."

"So, you're trustin' Spot now?"

"No, but I believe him. And I believe Blink," Jack said carefully.

"Yeah, well, I don't," Race said, "Look, I saw somethin' with my own eyes. It's something I can't explain away and that don't change 'cause Spot says different."

"They wanted him to rejoin, Race. He didn't. They came into Manhattan a few times lookin' for him. He talked with'em, but he didn't _talk_ with them," Jack said, watching Race and knowing he would get his meaning, "He stayed loyal, I'll bet anything on that."

Race continued to shuffle, but he didn't respond. The cards moved quickly between his hands, almost automatically. It was longer than Race normally shuffled, especially when a game was on the table. He was thinking it over, that much was clear.

Whether or not Race was convinced of Blink's innocence didn't matter to Jack at the moment. Race would come around eventually. It was more important that nobody else found out.

"You didn't tell nobody about this, did you?" Jack asked.

"No," Race said.

"You didn't shoot your mouth off to anyone-"

"No," Race repeated, giving a Jack a glare as he put the cards back in his pocket. "Time's up. Thanks for the donation."

He took his money from the hat, leaving the last dime for Jack.

"You ain't gonna give me the chance to win it back?"

"You'd just lose more. I'm doin' you a favor," Race said as he stood, "I tell you what, I'll spot you lunch, we'll call it square."

"Yeah, alright," Jack agreed. "I'm meetin' Mush later on, if you get back early."

Race shrugged as he walked away, "Don't count on it."

Jack took the dime from his hat and put it back in his pocket. He considered himself lucky. The last time he had to convince Race to talk with him, he had lost fifty cents.

* * *

"First chance you get, cheese it," Blink said under his breath to Mush.

Mush tossed his papers to the side, not taking his eyes off Greene and the two boys that accompanied him. "I ain't leavin'," he said as Greene came within earshot.

Blink didn't have the opportunity to respond, but gave Mush a frustrated look. This was not what he wanted. He never wanted to bring Mush into this, the same way he didn't want to bring Race into it in the beginning.

"How you doin' boys?" Greene asked pleasantly enough, as if he actually cared to hear the answer.

Mush took his cue from Blink and didn't answer. They were both preoccupied with finding an advantage in the situation. They were outnumbered and Blink wasn't going to be much good after a few swings. They had effectively cornered themselves.

Blink looked over the two boys Greene had come with. They weren't overly large and seemed like an even match. Greene wouldn't fight unless it was necessary. It wasn't his way. However, he didn't concern himself with fair play either, so there was a good chance one or all of them were carrying weapons.

"Don't worry, this'll go quick," Greene said almost reassuringly before he turned to the boy on his left. "Lou, take Kid's friend for a walk. Stay in sight."

"I'm fine where I am," Mush said with a clear warning his voice, daring 'Lou' to take a step toward him.

"This ain't your business," Greene said, ignoring Mush's tone, "You stay out of it and maybe you walk outta here."

Mush held his ground, not moved by the subtle threat and Blink balled his fist, in case Lou got any smart ideas.

Greene stayed Lou with a hand.

"You know who I am?" Greene asked as his eyes narrowed at Mush.

"Yeah," Mush said.

Greene regarded him a moment in tensed silence before his expression broke into a smile.

"Guts, I like that," Greene said with approval. "Let me make this simple for you, Guts. If I wanted you dead, you'd be dead. If I wanted you hurt, you'd be hurt. As it stands, I want to talk with Kid and I want to do it alone. We understand each other?"

Mush glanced sideways at Blink, waiting for him to take the first swing.

Blink didn't.

If they did get into a fight, he knew it would be over before it started. Mush might be able to take a couple down with him, but they weren't getting out. Greene saying he wanted to talk meant he had a deal, if he had a deal that meant he needed something from Blink. If Greene needed something from him, he wouldn't kill him. At least, that was his reasoning.

"Go on. I'll talk with him," Blink said finally.

Mush looked at him with carefully hidden disbelief. Separating was risky, but Blink was willing to take the chance. It would be better to get Mush away and closer to the street. If worst came to worst, he would have a fair chance of saving himself.

"You see, Guts? Everythin's square. No need to bloody that pretty face of yours," Greene said.

Mush hesitated, but finally nodded. It was clearly not something he would have done and he made no attempt to hide that from Blink.

"It turns bad, you run," Mush said in a low tone as he moved away from Blink.

"Same for you," Blink answered.

They knew neither would leave the other behind.

Mush walked toward the street, giving Blink a parting doubtful glance. Lou followed, exchanging a quick word with Greene that Blink couldn't make out.

"You got a good friend there," Greene said as he reached for something in his back pocket.

Blink tensed, waiting for what he knew would be sharp and pointy. Instead, Greene pulled out a cigarette and offered it to him.

"You want one?" he asked, finding another one for himself.

"Nah. I'm set," Blink refused quickly, taken slightly off-guard. It was a hard and fast rule you didn't smoke with people you were about to knock senseless.

Greene shrugged and handed the cigarette to the boy still at his side.

"You're probably wonderin' why I'm here," Greene said as he knelt down to strike a match on the ground.

"I got a good idea," Blink said. He didn't wonder, he knew. He also knew that he had to get out of there fast or create a big enough distraction so Mush could get back to the street.

Now seemed a good a time as any. They weren't even looking at him, both preoccupied with lighting their cigarettes. Blink glanced to Mush, caught his eye and nodded for him to go. Mush shook his head almost imperceptibly, trying not to attract attention. He mouthed the words 'You first.'

Blink hesitated. He didn't think he would be able to make it.

Greene laughed, his attention returned fully to Blink, "It ain't what you think."

The opportunity was gone.

"Then what?" Blink asked with a clear edge in his voice. It only brought a more genuine laugh from Greene.

"I always liked you, Kid. Never afraid of nothin'. Never took shit from no one. You was always smart."

Blink listened. Greene was working his way up to something, that much Blink could tell. Nobody ever called him smart.

"You and me go way back," Greene continued, exhaling a breath of smoke as he glanced away, "I forgot that. I did some things I ain't proud of. I went after you like you was nothin' to me. I ain't proud of that, Kid. It weren't right of me to do."

Blink opened his mouth to respond but closed it again when no words came out. Whatever Greene wanted, and Blink didn't forget he was after something, it must have been big. To apologize to a kid who insulted him by not rejoining was incredible enough, but to do it in front of his boys was just unbelievable.

"That bein' said, I need you to do somethin' for me. Something simple," Greene said casually, looking back at Blink.

He was losing his touch. Before, he would have been able to convince someone to do something for him without them even realizing it. To come right out and ask was not his style. He was either uncomfortable spending too much time in Manhattan out in the open or he thought Blink wouldn't refuse him.

"I ain't joinin' with you, Box."

"And I respect that," Greene said quickly, "You got yourself a good deal here. I wouldn't ask you to part with that. What I'm askin' is a one-time thing. You do this for me and I'll leave you alone, for good."

"What do I gotta do?" Blink asked hesitantly.

"Nah, you know how it works. You're either in or not."

So this was it. A favor for a favor. He did something for Greene and Greene let him live for a few more days. Blink did know how it worked and he knew there was no way Greene would let him off the hook for good. It would just be until he needed him again.

"I don't want no part of it," Blink said.

"Come on. What's your price, Kid?" Greene asked good-naturedly. "Money? You'll never have to sell another paper again. You do this for me and I'll set you up in style."

"Look, I appreciate that, but like I said, I ain't interested."

Greene nodded, seeming to accept the answer. He regarded Blink thoughtfully as he took a drag on his cigarette. "What about your friend?"

"What about him?" Blink asked with faint sense of fear.

"Your price, Kid. How 'bout I let him walk?"

Blink couldn't tell if he was being serious. The casual way he threatened Mush like it was nothing. He looked to Mush and silently willed him to run. Greene caught the quick glance.

"Good, we got a deal," he said with satisfaction.

"No. He ain't a part of this. This is between us," Blink said fiercely.

"He's already a part of it. Whether he gets out or not is your decision," Greene said, "So, what's it gonna be?"

Blink was stupid to think he would have gotten out of this with his life and without owing Greene something for it. And Greene had found something that Blink couldn't refuse. But if he said yes to Greene this time, Blink knew he would be trapped. Mush would safe, but only until Blink said 'no' again.

"No," Blink said, "No deal."

"Not good enough," Greene said, shaking his head slowly.

Greene looked to Lou and nodded.

Blink realized what was going to happened a second too late. He wasn't able to shout a warning in time. Mush never saw it coming. Lou punched him once squarely across the face and then again in the gut. He crumpled to the ground and didn't get up.

"What's it gonna be?" Greene asked again.

Blink felt a sickening feeling in his stomach. There was only one way he could help Mush, he had no choice.

"I'm in," he said quietly.

"Good." Greene smiled once again, as if nothing unpleasant had happened. "Like I said, it's a simple thing. I'd do it myself, but they'd see me comin' a mile away."

Blink wasn't listening. He was looking at Mush, wishing forgiveness on himself.

"I got a note here for your boy, Kelly," Greene said as he pulled a folded piece of newsprint from his pocket, "Can you read?"

"No," Blink said distractedly.

"It says I want him to set up a meetin' between me and Conlon. Can he do that?"

Blink couldn't believe it. All this for a stupid note? "That's what this is about? You want me to give Jack a note?"

"No, that's your friend's job. You'll be doin' somethin' more risky," Greene said as he motioned for the boy standing at his side to move back out of earshot. His eyes swept the surroundings once, making sure there was no one who would be able to overhear him. Satisfied, he leaned in closer to Blink and told him what was worth Mush's life.

Blink froze.

Risky was an understatement. What Greene wanted him to do would undoubtedly cost him his own life. It would send the territories into a war the city had not seen since Greene disappeared.

If he lived through it, he would be the traitor Race thought he was.

"I can't have anyone askin' questions or doubtin' you, Kid," Greene said," I'm riskin' too much lettin' your boy over there walk. As far as anyone's concerned, we cornered you and didn't finish the job. Understand?"

"Yeah," Blink said slowly, still trying to comprehend the consequences of the deal he had just made, "Do it."

He took a breath and prepared himself for what was to come. It had to be believable. People would be suspicious if Greene let him walk without a scratch.

"I'll be in touch," Greene said, nodding for the boy to come forward again, " You ready?"

Blink nodded and braced himself. The boy pulled his fist back.

Greene gave the go ahead and moved out of the way. He turned his back as the first punch landed and strolled back toward the street. The sound of Blink hitting the street followed him as he approached Mush.

Lou was pinning him to the ground with his foot. Mush was trying get out from under him but tensed as Greene came closer, expecting he would be next.

Greene bent down next to him and slipped the note into Mush's pocket.

"Watch," Greene told him, nodding towards Blink, "Tell Kelly what he can expect."

* * *

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AN: No too long this time :0) We're nearing the end, folks. A couple more chapters to go.

Big thanks for B, TSB, Braids, Allison, Owl, Spot-the-Emu, and Cookie23

And thanks to everyone whose been reading. I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

("Shoeless" shoutouts: B, TSB, Skittery's bad mood, Ashgrl, Sprints, Jac and signpost. Thanks guys, you rock :0)


	16. An Understanding

"We gonna eat or what?"

Jack threw a stone at a barrel on the corner. The shot was wide and came closer to hitting Dutchy than getting in. He didn't know which he'd rather have hit, but decided it would have been Dutchy, as the barrel was being less annoying at the moment.

"For the last time, I ain't payin' for yous," Jack said as he picked up another stone from the ground.

"Mush ain't gonna show, he probably found somethin' better," Dutchy said, obviously getting more enjoyment out of getting a rise out of Jack than the prospect of food. He knew enough to get out of the way when another rock came his direction.

"Better than a free lunch? He'll show," Specs said, ducking his head out of the restaurant door. Dutchy elbowed him.

"You're right, he ain't showin'," Specs said quickly, "I'd give up on him if I was you."

Jack looked at them dryly and threw another stone at the barrel.

"What's this about a free lunch?"

Jack turned his head, preparing to glare at whoever else had come searching for a free meal. Word had spread fast and the restaurant was packed. He estimated roughly half the city was inside.

"Don't bother, Race. Jack ain't feelin' generous today. He don't want to help his fellow man," Dutchy said as he flicked a rock back at Jack and slipped past Specs through the open door.

Jack nodded to Race as he tossed one more stone at Dutchy for good measure. He was honestly surprised to see Race. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms.

"I'm waitin' on Mush, go in if you want," Jack said.

"Nah, I'll wait." Race put his hands in his pockets and looked at the chalkboard menu.

There was an awkward silence between them. Jack didn't know what to say and Race seemed content not to say anything at all.

"Were the tracks no good?" Jack asked finally, finding the one thing besides the weather that was always safe to talk about.

"Wouldn't know, never made it over. There's some trouble with Brooklyn down there. Word has it, it's best to stay clear," Race explained with a shrug. It must have been some trouble. Race wouldn't miss a day at the tracks if he could help it.

Jack bent down to gather a few more stones from the sidewalk. As he stood up, his eyes fell on three unfamiliar faces walking through the street. Their hands were blackened on the fingertips from newspaper ink. They were newsies, or so it seemed, though he had never seen them before. One of them happened to be wearing a brown cap, but Jack didn't think too much on it.

"You know them?" Jack nodded to the group of outsiders.

Race took his eyes off the menu and glanced to the street. "Nah," he said, "You?"

"Never seen'em before," Jack replied as he watched them move slowly through the crowds.

Race picked up the suspicion in Jack's voice. "You wanna go make some trouble?"

Jack entertained the thought. He had nothing better to do until Mush showed up. He shrugged and dropped the handful of stones back to the ground. "Yeah, why not."

They stepped off the curb and made their way across the street. Jack looked in the direction of where the three boys had come from. It was a side street and a dead end if he remembered correctly, not the sort of place someone would wander innocently.

"Take a look around, start with down there," Jack said, nodding toward the dead end.

"And what am I lookin' for exactly?" Race said.

"Anythin' that don't look right."

Race nodded. He put his hands back into his pockets and started toward the alley. Jack walked after the boys, trying to see where they were going or who they talked to. Their pace was easy and they didn't seem in a hurry. He would easily be able to catch up to them. Jack glanced back to see if Race had found anything, but Race wasn't in the street.

Just then, he heard Race shout for him.

"Jack!"

There was urgency in his voice. Something was wrong.

Jack hesitated for only a moment before he turned back the way he had come and started running toward the dead end. Race called for him again. Ducking through a broken fence, he slowed down as he saw Race helping Mush to sit up. Jack immediately looked for Blink, but he was nowhere in sight. The place was deserted except for them, a few crates and scattered rubbish. Mush wouldn't have left Blink willingly. Something was definitely wrong.

"Mush, you alright?" Jack said as he knelt down next to him, "Look at me, you alright?"

"Fine, I'm fine," Mush mumbled, though he didn't lift his head to look at Jack. The side of his face was red and starting to swell already. Fine or not, he had clearly taken a few hard hits.

"What happened?" Race asked as he turned Mush's face towards them in order to get a better look at him.

"Cornered us," Mush said slowly. As he spoke, his expression changed and his eyes grew more alert. He grabbed hold of Race's arm. "Blink. You gotta help Blink."

"Take it easy," Race said, steadying him.

"Where is he?" Jack said. He tried to keep the concern from his voice as he looked again for Blink.

"There." Mush nodded to the far end of the building, toward a stack of crates. Sure enough there was a boot, barely visible around the corner.

"I see him," Race said. He was already starting to get up when Jack pulled him back down.

"No, you stay here. Stay with Mush," Jack said.

"Jack-"

"Do it," Jack told him, leaving no room for argument. He was on his feet before Race could protest.

If Blink was dead, he didn't want Race to see it up close and personal.

Jack prepared himself for the worse as Blink's body came more fully into view. He was facedown on the ground and wasn't moving. In his experience, that wasn't a good sign. Still, Jack approached cautiously. As he neared Blink, he kept his eyes on the surroundings and the fire escapes above. It could have been a set-up. If Spot was willing to use Blink as bait, there was no reason to think Greene would be above it. That was assuming Greene was even involved. Blink had a list of enemies that went far beyond the Delancys, but Jack had a feeling the timing wasn't a coincidence.

Jack risked looking down at Blink as he knelt by his side. There wasn't enough blood to suggest he had been stuck with a knife and that, in itself, was promising. His hand hesitated on Blink's shoulder for a moment as he worked up the courage to turn him over. Taking a breath, he carefully rolled Blink onto his back.

Jack winced inwardly. It was bad. Not the worst he had seen, but bad. They had definitely gunned for Blink, leaving Mush relatively unharmed.

Jack could hardly see his face. Anywhere that wasn't bruised was bloody. It had dripped down his chin and stained the front of his shirt a sickening red. It looked like his nose might have been broken, though Jack couldn't be sure.

It wasn't the worst he had seen, Jack reminded himself. He couldn't help but look away.

"Jack?" Race called over to him uneasily.

His question was clear.

Jack rested a hand on Blink's chest and waited for it to move. Up or down, he didn't care which, he would take any sign of life. At that moment, Jack felt Blink's chest shallowly rise then fall. He was breathing. He was alive.

"He ain't dead," Jack called back, trying to keep his voice steady. Relief was an understatement. He held himself responsible for what had happened. It was his job to keep them safe and he couldn't even manage that.

"Blink, you with me here?" Jack asked as he wiped the blood away from Blink's good eye with his sleeve. It would be easier to move him if he was at least partially awake, and they needed to get out of there as fast as possible. The bulls could come along at any minute and lock them all up. Jack for soaking Blink, Race and Mush for being accomplices and Blink for loitering.

"You wanna carry him out?"

Jack glanced up to see Race standing next to him, he didn't even hear him walk over. He was looking down at Blink with uncertainty and worry, a rare moment of unguarded emotion. His expression changed quickly as he noticed Jack looking at him, becoming almost unreadable.

"I think we gotta," Jack said, seeing no other option, "What about Mush?"

"He'll walk, no problem," Race said as he crouched down next to Jack, his eyes still fixed on Blink's bloodied face.

Jack glanced over his shoulder to see for himself. Mush was on his feet, though unsteadily. He was leaning heavily against the building and had assumed the role of lookout. Concern was plain on his face as he watched them.

"Come on, Blink. That's it," Race said quietly.

Jack looked back to see Blink's good eye opening.

He seemed to become aware of his surroundings almost instantly. His muscles tensed and he brought his arms up to guard his head. It was obvious he didn't recognize them immediately and was reacting to what he thought was a threat. Jack knew he would come out of it in a moment, but made the mistake of putting a reassuring hand on Blink's shoulder.

"Get your hands off me!" Blink said with a surprising amount of energy considering he had been out-cold the minute before.

"We ain't gonna hurt you," Jack said, letting go of Blink just in time to avoid being punched in the face.

"You're fine, Blink," Race said, keeping his distance, "Just calm down."

Whether Blink finally realized it was them or simply exhausted himself wasn't clear, but his arms fell back to the ground. Race moved forward again, keeping his hands where Blink could see them as he knelt next to him.

"Blink, look at me," Race said, snapping his fingers a few times in front of Blink's face, trying to get him to focus, "You know who I am? What's my name?"

Race studied his reaction carefully. He was watching how Blink was moving and noticing how he didn't respond to his voice. His good eye was only half-open and didn't seem to focus on anything in particular. Blink looked as though he was trying to say something, but couldn't quite manage.

"You're fine, Blink. You're alright now," Race said. His voice was calm and steady, lacking the anger Jack knew he felt at seeing Blink like that. Despite what had happened, Blink was still one of them and Race wouldn't forget it.

"He's out again," Race told Jack, "Don't matter though, he wasn't walkin' either way."

"Alright, let's get him outta here," Jack said as he picked up Blink's hat from where it had fallen and tucked it under his belt. He pulled one of Blink's arms over his shoulder and waited for Race to do the same.

With a bit of effort, they lifted him up between them and took a few difficult steps.

"Ragazzi!" a woman's voice shouted from one of the windows of the tenement.

Jack and Race both looked up. Sure enough, the woman was yelling at them.

"What's she sayin'?" Jack asked as he readjusted his grip on Blink's arm and took more of the weight off Race.

"How should I know, do I look like I speak Italianese?" Race said before he yelled up to the window, "Shut up, lady! Mind your business. Go wash some clothes!"

The woman seemed to understand the tone of what Race had said and grew more incensed, yelling even louder. Soon a baby's wailing joined the racket and another woman from across the alley started yelling for them all to shut up.

"Good goin', that helped a lot," Jack said, giving Race a look, "Let's cheese it before the bulls decide it's a good day to start doin' their jobs."

* * *

Keeping a low profile on the way back to the lodging house was easier than expected. Nobody paid them much notice. Luckily, it looked as though they were just taking a drunk home. Mush was careful to walk just a step ahead of Race and Jack, obscuring from view the fact that Blink was far from drunk. 

As soon as they made it up the stairs and laid Blink down, Jack pulled Mush aside. He began to grill him on what had happened. Race didn't stay to listen, instead he headed to the washroom. He didn't need to know what had happened. All he needed to know was who did it, so he could get revenge. Whatever Blink did, he didn't deserve what he got. It was brutal.

He couldn't help but feel partly responsible. It was his fault Blink wasn't able to fight back. If he had just walked away from the fight last night, Blink would have been in good enough shape to defend himself.

Race filled a cracked basin with a little water and found a washcloth that had been left behind. Taking care of Blink was something he had done many times before when Blink was too beat up to take care of himself. He'd try to make him comfortable, give him some liquor if the pain was bad, and made sure nobody tried to settle any scores until he was on his feet again. It wasn't much, but it was what Blink had done for him on more than one occasion.

He carried the basin back into the main room. Mush was handing Jack a folded piece of paper.

Race sat down on the edge of the bunk Blink was laid out on and set the basin on the floor. He slipped Blink's eye patch off and put it in his own pocket. It would be the first thing Blink would ask for when he was awake enough to realize it was gone. Race bent down and dipped the washcloth in the water before wringing it out. His movements were almost automatic.

Carefully, he began to wash the blood from Blink's face. The water turned red in the basin and dripped red through his fingers as he wrung out the cloth. At least Blink wasn't awake, it would have to have been done regardless and at least this way he would be spared the torturously slow and painful process.

Race glanced up as Mush put an extra shirt on the foot of the bunk and started to unlace Blink's shoes. He didn't look happy. Race looked over to Jack, who was concentrating so intensely on the paper Mush had given him that Race thought it might rip in his hands.

"Somethin' important?" Race said, turning back to Blink.

"Yeah," Mush said. He pulled Blink's shoes off and set them down on the floor. "Greene wants us to set somethin' up with Spot,"

"That don't make sense," Race said, "Why would they soak Blink and then expect us to do them a favor?"

"I don't know," Jack conceded, finally looking up from the note. Nothing about it seemed right. "What'd it look like to you, Mush?"

"From what I seen, it looked like a warnin'." Mush shrugged. "Maybe he don't want us joinin' Brooklyn."

"So you think Kid bein' alive is an accident?"

"Nah," Mush said after thinking it over, "They let'im walk. They coulda finished it."

Jack nodded, but wasn't convinced.

Nothing about the situation made sense. If Greene wanted to send a true warning to Manhattan, he wouldn't have let Mush or Blink live. If he wanted to use Manhattan as an intermediary, like the note suggested, he wouldn't have wanted to give them a reason to hate him more than they already did. Unless, he was stupid enough to think that he could intimidate them into doing what he wanted. If that was the case, he had another thing coming.

"Race, what do his hands look like?" Jack asked almost as an afterthought.

Race glanced at one of Blink's hands and then the other. He didn't like what he saw. There were no scrapes, no new bruises, nothing to suggest he had even tried to defend himself.

"Not a scratch, nothin' new anyway," Race said.

"He didn't fight back," Jack stated the obvious implication. "He didn't fight back and they let him walk."

"That ain't it. That ain't what happened," Mush said. He was quick to defend Blink, but his voice didn't hold much conviction.

The evidence was there and it didn't look good.

Jack stood away from the wall.

"Where you goin'?" Race asked.

"Brooklyn," Jack answered.

"You're gonna do it?" Race said in disbelief ,"After what they did to Blink?"

"What else do you want me to do?"

"You can do somethin' on your own for once instead of runnin' to Spot every time you get scared."

"And you can watch your mouth," Jack warned him.

"Quit it. Both of you," Mush said, attempting to put an end to the argument before it could escalate.

Jack ignored him for the moment, but didn't lose his temper. He didn't want to get into anything with Race. "Look, I know you don't like Spot, but that's the way it's gonna work. You wanna get back at Greene, you're gonna have to deal with him."

Race didn't respond, which was his way of agreeing. Jack took it as such and considered the subject closed.

"Mush, you feel up to a walk?" Jack asked. He wouldn't have gone to Brooklyn alone on a good day, but with all the trouble it would have been suicide to attempt it now.

Mush nodded before he turned to Race. "If he needs a doctor, get him one. We'll find a way to pay for it."

Mush gave a Blink a last glance as he moved to the stairs. Jack followed him, but stopped just short of the door.

"See if you can get him to talk," Jack said, pulling on his hat, "I need to know what the hell is goin' on."

* * *

Blink opened his eyes slowly. The sunlight was painfully bright. He didn't remember it being so bright in the alley. He also didn't remember the ground being so soft. 

He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to shake the haze from his mind. It took him a few moments to realize his eye patch was gone. That was why everything seemed so fuzzy. He closed one eye, then the other, forgetting which one was the bad one. With the less blurry eye open, he lifted his head just enough to see his shoes were also gone. Some bum probably rolled him and took anything that looked remotely valuable. He had gotten that pair of shoes less than a month ago and he knew he wouldn't be able to convince Mush to steal another pair for him so soon.

As he thought of Mush, an odd feeling of fear passed over him. Something happened to Mush.

He thought he could hear a voice talking, but couldn't focus on what it was saying. Every so often he heard the sound of newspaper page turning. There was someone nearby. Maybe they knew what happened to Mush.

Blink sat up, or rather, he tried to. He only managed to lift himself up a few inches before his head began to swim and he fell back. Trying again, he met with similar results. He was dimly aware of the fact that the sound of newspaper pages being turned stopped.

"Lay down, Blink," he heard a voice say.

"Mush-Where's Mush?" he asked. He was surprised at how hoarse his voice was and how distant it sounded to his own ears.

"He's fine. He's with Jack," the voice responded.

"He's okay?"

"Yeah, just lay down."

Blink couldn't remember laying down. He didn't remember closing his eyes either, but he must have. The next thing he could remember was opening his eyes. This time the light was cooler, like it was in the late afternoon. He lifted his head, finding it much easier this time around.

"Lay down, Blink," Race said, not looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

"Race, that you?"

Race looked up from the page. It was the first time Blink had noticed he was there. He had been in and out for the past few hours, sometimes coherent, most of the time not.

"You know where you are?" Race asked.

"God, was I that bad?" Blink let his head fall back to the mattress and closed his eyes at the painfulness of that sudden movement.

"For awhile," Race confirmed. He put the paper aside and moved to sit on the edge of the neighboring bunk, so that it would be easier to talk with him. "Mush said you got knocked in the head a bit."

Blink forced his eyes open at the mention of Mush's name, as if just remembering something important. There was an odd combination of confusion and fear on his face, or at least that's what Race concluded it was. Once or twice he saw it when Blink was sleeping, but mostly when he was awake enough to realize something had happened, even if he couldn't remember what.

"Mush is fine," Race said, stopping him before he could ask again, "He ain't hurt."

Visibly relieved, Blink nodded. "Good."

That was a first. Usually, he kept asking until he passed out again. Race took it as a good sign that he was able to follow a conversation.

"How 'bout you? How you doin'?" Race asked.

"I'm doin' good," Blink answered, attempting to keep his voice steady as he did so. It was the expected answer, the one Race would have given. It was the answer any self-respecting newsie would have given, and as such, Race promptly dismissed it. They tried to never show weakness, even among friends. Blink was no exception, though Race could read him better than most, and knew he was lying through his teeth.

"Yeah? 'Cause you don't look it," Race said bluntly. He didn't feel like doing the runaround and knew it would spare Blink a whole lot of effort to be honest. "There ain't no one here but you and me, n' I know for a fact you ain't good."

Blink almost smiled, but winced at the movement.

"I don't want no doctor, or nothin'," he said finally.

"Why's that?" Race responded, avoiding a direct answer. He didn't want to promise Blink something like that. If he needed one, he was getting one, end of story. The fact Blink had even brought up the subject, made Race believe he knew how bad he was.

"I don't want a suit hoverin' over me, holdin' a handkerchief over his nose, afraid to touch anythin' in his fancy clothes," Blink said.

"They ain't all like that," Race said as he reached down and picked up a nearly-empty bottle from the floor, " 'Sides, when've you seen a real doctor?"

"Once," Blink said, "He came for a neighbor. He had a real fancy suit."

"Sit up a bit," Race said.

Shakily, Blink attempted to sit up, holding on to the edge of the bunk for support. Race didn't help him. He wanted to see if Blink could do it on his own and if he couldn't, he wanted to know why. If it was something like a cracked rib, they might need a doctor, if it was just because he was too weak, he might just need rest. Blink tried to suppress a grimace as he struggled to sit up, but couldn't completely. Only when it looked like he was about to collapse, Race moved to help him and propped up the pillow underneath him.

"Anythin' hurt more than it should?" Race asked. Blink shook his head slightly. Race didn't know if he completely believed him, but saw that he could move well enough. He decided to let the doctor issue go for the moment.

"Here, drink that." Race passed him the bottle.

"What is it?" Blink said. He looked at the contents doubtfully.

"Hair tonic," Race said, reading the label for him. "Finish it off, it'll kill the pain a bit."

Blink took a sip, frowning at the taste.

"What happened back there," Race asked, taking the empty bottle back. He tried to keep the question free of accusation, but he wanted to know what Blink's game was as much as Jack did.

"I don't remember, it happened quick," Blink said.

"You don't remember," Race repeated with an audible trace of disbelief.

"I got punched," Blink said quickly, meaning to put an end to the conversation. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about it. Too bad Race didn't care what he wanted at the moment.

"No shit," Race responded with more than a little sarcasm, "What for? A threat, a warning, what?"

"Yeah," Blink said.

"Which one?"

"Both," Blink said evenly, "What did Mush say about it?"

Race paused before answering, looking at Blink closely. If Blink had just said he didn't remember, he might have bought it. The fact he was asking about Mush made Race suspicious. Blink was trying to get his story straight.

"He said you was talkin'," Race said.

"I did. I was tryin' to get him out," Blink said defensively.

"I thought you said you didn't remember what happened."

"I guess I do."

"So maybe you can remember somethin' else while you're at it," Race said, ignoring the cool look he was getting from Blink. He figured he only had a short time before Blink figured out he was cornered. "You wanna tell me why you didn't fight them?"

The color in Blink's face paled slightly, but he responded without missing a beat, "I did-I tried."

"You wanna tell me why you're lyin' about it?" Race asked calmly. He was prepared to be yelled at, cursed at, and, if Blink was in better shape, he would have been ready to duck a punch. But, to his surprise, Blink didn't respond. He just laid there, his eyes focused on the underside of the top bunk. He'd been caught and he knew it.

"You ain't playin' your cards right, Kid."

"Don't start, Race. I don't wanna hear it," Blink said, glancing at Race only long enough to glare at him.

"Too bad, 'cause I ain't lettin' it slide," Race shot back, "You wanna wreck yourself, fine. Go to town. But don't bring the rest of us down with you. You coulda got Mush hurt or worse. That ain't like you." Race tried to keep the anger from his voice, but couldn't completely. Blink had closed his eyes and wasn't even acknowledging what he was saying, something that angered Race further. "I don't know what you've got goin' on with Greene, but I know there's somethin'. I ain't stupid and I ain't blind, that gives me two up on you."

"You done?" Blink said suddenly, sharply. Apparently, he had been listening after all.

"No, I ain't," Race said. He was just getting warmed up. "Y'know, I used to trust you. But it's getting harder and harder for me to find reasons to anymore." Race stopped himself abruptly. Nothing he wanted to say would affect Blink. Once he made up his mind, it was a done deal.

"Forget it. I'm wastin' my time." Race reached into his pocket and pulled out Blink's eye patch. As he stood up, he tossed it on the mattress next to Blink.

"Now, I'm done," Race said before he turned and walked away.

* * *

Blink shifted as much as he could without jarring a sore muscle or bruise. He couldn't find any comfortable position that lasted more than a few minutes. It hurt to breath. It hurt to talk. It even hurt to think about how much it hurt. He hadn't been beaten that badly in long time. 

He slipped his eye patch into his pocket. There was no way he would be able to put it on, he couldn't even lift his arms enough to scratch his nose.

It made the pain all the worse to suffer through knowing it had been for nothing. Race had seen through him faster than he had expected. He knew Race would have caught on eventually, but he thought he would have had more time. Whatever suspicions Race had, Blink could only hope he had kept them to himself. In order to keep up his end of the bargain, he would have to be trusted by Jack.

Blink put the thought out of his mind as regret settled over him. It would be a few days before he had to go through with Greene's deal. For now, he could rest and think about how much it hurt to rest.

There was a faint smell of cigar smoke drifting in from the fire escape.

What he would have given for a cigarette. He hadn't had one since morning. The scent of the smoke suddenly became too strong to ignore. He needed a cigarette. Moving his hand just enough to touch his shirt pocket, he searched for the one he knew was there.

It didn't take him long to realize he wasn't wearing his own shirt. It was clean and looked like one of Mush's. He let out a frustrated breath and let his hand fall back down to his side.

The smoke was becoming insufferable. He licked his cracked lips, almost imagining the taste of a cigarette in his mouth.

Lifting his head, he looked for the shirt he had been wearing. Bloodstained and torn, it stood out from where it had been put on the neatly-made bunk a few rows over.

It could have been a mile as far as he was concerned. He could barely lift his head, let alone stand up on his own. He could have called for Race, but he didn't.

It didn't take brains to know Race wanted nothing to do with him and Blink didn't exactly blame him. He regretted lying to Race, but it hadn't been the first time and it probably wouldn't be the last. He had desperately wanted to confide in him, if only to lift a small part of the weight from his shoulders. But what Race had said rang true with him and strengthened his resolve to see the mess through to the end. He wouldn't bring anyone down with him. That had always been his priority. Race, for all his perception, had missed that one small fact.

At least he had managed to keep something from him, Blink thought wryly.

Blink glanced again to where his shirt lay. The distance didn't seem so far anymore. He was sure he could make it there and back.

He slowly moved one leg to the edge of the bunk. Finding little trouble, he slid the other one over and waited for his toes to find the floor. So far so good. Now, for the hard part. He figured it would be best to just get up as fast as he could. He knew something was wrong with his ribs, but had no idea what or if it was serious. Whatever it was, he was vaguely aware that he was about to find out as he pushed himself up. Blinding pain split through his side, taking the air from his lungs. He couldn't breath, he couldn't make a sound.

He didn't realize he was standing until he began to lose his balance. Falling forward, he caught hold of the nearest bunkpost and clung to it weakly. The room was spinning around him at a nauseating speed. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to get up after all. Blink closed his eyes and waited for his head to clear. He had made it this far and, pain be damned, he was getting his smoke.

Blink pushed himself away from the support and stumbled toward the next bunk. He could hardly stay on his feet as he crossed the row to where his shirt was laying.

Holding his side gingerly, he sank down to his knees. He pulled his shirt from the bunk and began to fumble through the pockets. He found the one cigarette just where he had left it. It was a miracle it hadn't been broken or lost. He held it with his mouth while he looked for a match.

No matches. He went through each pocket again. No matches. No Goddamn matches. He threw down the cigarette in defeat. His life was a joke, one big ironic joke.

He didn't know how long he sat there, his fingers digging into what remained of his shirt. It had been his second best, with only two holes and all of its buttons. If he could have gotten up, he would have, but his strength was utterly gone.

He didn't call for Race, though he should have. He didn't want anyone to see him like he was. Shaky, unable to even hold his head up for more than a few seconds. He was weak, there was no way around it, not that he would admit it to anyone else.

"Blink?" he heard Race call from across the room. He had probably just noticed the bunk was empty.

Blink didn't answer immediately, instead he tried to get up one last time.

"Blink?" Race said again, this time his voice was farther away and held a bit of concern. He was looking for him. "Blink, where are you?"

He didn't want to cause Race any more grief than he already had and he couldn't sit there all day.

"Here," Blink called back reluctantly.

Race's footsteps grew closer as he followed the sound of Blink's voice. It only took him a few moments to find him and Blink could see the relief on his face.

"What the hell are you doin' over here?" Race asked with a frown. The way he said it made Blink believe there would be no acceptable answer.

"I-I, well, I," Blink started, realizing how lame a reason it actually was, "I wanted a smoke."

"God," Race muttered, rolling his eyes, "How long you been there?"

"Awhile."

"You coulda yelled, I woulda heard you."

"I know, I know," Blink said quickly, not needing to hear more logic, "You gonna help me up or what?

"You hurt yourself more? You fall or something?"

"No," Blink said impatiently, "Are you gonna talk me to death? Either help me up or cheese it."

Race gave him a dry look, as if seriously contemplating the latter. With anyone else, Blink would have thought it was for show, but with Race he wasn't so sure. Race could hold a grudge like no one else he knew.

Luckily for him, it was only a few moments before Race relented and took hold of him under his shoulders. Race pulled him to his feet with far more care than he was sure he deserved and told him to lean on him as much as he needed to. It was a short and relatively painless trip back, making Blink all the more aware of how stupid it was for him to try and do it on his own.

"Thanks," Blink said as Race helped him to lay down again.

"What? You think I'd let you sit and rot?"

"Well, if you were mad enough, yeah," Blink said matter-of-factly. There was a vague sense of amusement on Race's face, but nothing close to a smile. Blink figured he might as well get the one thing he could say off his chest while Race was in a good enough mood to hear it. "Look, I'm sorry about yesterday. I didn't mean to soak you."

The lightness disappeared as Race shrugged. "Forget about it. You were in a tight spot, it'd make anyone jumpy."

"Jack told you about it?"

"Some."

Blink looked at his hands. "I wanted to tell you."

"No, you didn't," Race said. "And you didn't have to. God knows I don't tell you everythin' I do. I got in your business without you askin' me to." Blink wasn't prepared to hear that. Though, he got the feeling that was supposed to be an apology of some sort, but Race never said it outright. They had come to an understanding, of what Blink wasn't sure, but it looked like Race might have forgiven him in part for what happened. It was better than nothing.

"But you trust me, right? When you were sayin' you didn't, you was mad. You didn't mean it," Blink said uncertainly, "Right?"

"I don't know." Race shrugged again, but wouldn't look at him.

Blink felt that remark cut into him deeply. He felt low, lower than he had when he dealt with Greene. Even though Race knew the truth, he still didn't trust him. He had done many things wrong in his life, but this topped it all. He'd made a mess out things, so much so, that he couldn't even see how far it had gone.

"You gotta trust me, just this once," Blink said.

Race considered him for a moment. It seemed like a small eternity before he finally responded, "Earn it. Tell me what's goin' on."

At least Race hadn't given up on him completely. Blink could feel his eyes on him, waiting for an answer. In his mind, Blink firmly intended to tell Race that he couldn't. But before he knew what he was saying, he had already begun to speak.

"I got myself into somethin' I don't think I can get out of," Blink started. He had been not talking about for so long, it felt strange to speak so openly. Though, as soon as he began to talk, the words came more easily. "It was like you said, I didn't fight them," he continued, keeping his voice low, almost to a whisper, although he knew no one else was within earshot.

"There a reason?"

"I made a deal with Greene."

Race didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. He was disappointed in him. Not angry, not surprised, just disappointed.

"It was for Mush, I had to," Blink said quickly, trying to defend himself, "He won't think twice about comin' after Mush if I don't keep my end."

"We can protect Mush," Race said with assurance, "You don't gotta do nothin' for Greene. He's a snake."

"You don't understand," Blink said. He would haven laughed if it didn't hurt so much. Race didn't get it. Greene walked into Manhattan in broad daylight without being noticed. He could have killed Mush right then. The deal was too big for him to let Blink welsh on. There would be consequences.

"Nah, I don't think I do," Race agreed, looking at him closely. "What was your end?"

Blink hesitated. He had told Race most of it already, there was really no reason to hold back. He was done for anyway. But still, he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again.

If Race could trust him after all that had happened, why couldn't he return that trust? Race would help him, he had helped him so many times before. And, for the first time, Blink realized he needed that help.

"He wants me to set Spot up," Blink said quietly.

"Set him up?" Race said, becoming wary, "Set him up for what?'

"That meetin' he wants Jack to work out, it's just to get Spot out in the open. He wants me to do it, Race. He wants me to kill Spot."

Race sat back, taking it in silently. The implications were immediately clear. Brooklyn would turn on Manhattan, Manhattan would fight back. In the resulting confusion, Greene could take down both. It was serious. Serious enough that Race finally understood why Blink was so rattled.

"I can't do it, Race," Blink said, his voice catching in his throat.

"We'll think of somethin', don't worry," Race said.

"I can't do it."

"I know. I'll figure somethin' out," Race assured him, his voice filled with all the confidence he didn't feel.

* * *

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading, guys and gals. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. 


	17. Now or Never

_Basic plot summary so far: Race has a feeling something isn't right with Blink, though he can't put his finger on it immediately. He finds his answer when he stumbles across Blink meeting with boys tied to Box Greene. Greene was a territory leader that had violently disappeared years before and is rumored to have resurfaced, trying to reclaim his former power._

_Race fears Blink is a traitor and confronts him, giving him a chance to explain himself before Race goes to Jack with his suspicions. Blink doesn't explain himself, however. Instead, he starts a fight withRace that ends with him being thrown out and Race truly believing Blink is the traitor._

_Jack and Spot share Race's suspicions, but Jack forbids Spot to touch Blink until they are sure. Spot agrees and promptly goes after Blink anyway. He corners him, but before he gets any useful information from Blink, Box Greene shows up with a mind to kill Blink himself. _

_It turns out, Blink used to be one of Greene's boys when he was younger and had refused to rejoin him when he came back on the scene. Race had misconstrued what he had seen earlier and had jumped to conclusions. Blink, in a misguided way, was only trying to protect his friends by not involving them with Greene. Now knowing this, Spot fends Greene off for the moment and persuades Blink to go back and tell Jack the truth._

_The next day Greene finds Blink. He offers to forget the past and leave him alone for good, if Blink agrees to do him one last favor. Blink refuses. Greene threatens Mush. In order to protect Mush's life, Blink makes a high-stakes deal with Greene. To make sure no one gets suspicious, he has Blink beaten to make it look like he was settling a score. Greene and gives Mush a note to pass on to Jack. It instructs Jack to set up a meeting with Spot. Race and Jack find Mush and Blink soon after and bring them back home._

_Jack and Mush go to Brooklyn to set up the meeting with Spot, while Race stays behind and looks after Blink._

_Blink and Race talk and eventually come to an understanding, though Race admits he doesn't completely trust Blink anymore. Realizing he has almost destroyed his friendship with Race and can no longer hold everything together on his own, Blink decides to finally confide in Race. He reveals what Greene wants him to do: kill Spot…_

* * *

It was well into the afternoon when they passed into Brooklyn. The relative calm in the streets was unsettling. Jack saw only one or two boys selling and they seemed more intent on gathering and relaying information than making money. 

Spot must have pulled his boys off the streets. Jack could think of several reasons why, none of them good.

As he and Mush approached the docks, it became clear where all the Brooklyn boys were. They were standing in groups, spread out over the street, piers and sidewalks, talking in low voices that stopped as soon as Jack and Mush walked by. Suspicious glances and narrowed eyes replaced the sneers and insults Jack was accustomed to. He found the silence more threatening than the open confrontation he normally faced.

Past experience had taught him to keep a fair distance away from anyone claiming to be from Brooklyn, but that proved to be impossible as he tried to thread his way through the mass of boys. The going was slow and Mush kept up with him easily. They caught stray glares and elbows, which Jack was careful not to return.

"Where do you think you're goin', Kelly?" a dangerously quiet voice asked.

Jack's eyes darted sideways to the source of the voice, his hands easing into fists. It was Danny Cluggs. Everyone who liked him called him Cluggy, everyone else called him Ugly, though rarely to his face. Not only was he ugly, he didn't like to be called ugly and would usually pound anyone who dared.

He had a large, vaguely 's'-shaped scar on the side of his face where the skin hadn't healed right and pinched one side of his mouth into a permanent frown. It was this particularly twisted grin that greeted Jack, blocking his path forward.

As Cluggy circled them slowly, Jack kept his eyes trained on him. He knew Cluggy wanted a fight and was tempted to give him one, but he had more important concerns at the moment. Cluggy circled close enough that his shoulder caught Jack's deliberately. Jack was about to push back when he noticed several more boys had gathered behind him. He glanced at Mush, this wasn't the welcome he expected.

"I'm here for Spot," Jack said evenly, hoping that would scare them off.

Half the boys gathered nearby glanced at the docks, looking for Spot's response. Spot had them trained pretty well, but they weren't too bright, having unintentionally shown Jack right where Spot was.

He could see Spot sitting on the front stoop of a building facing the docks, surrounded by the few Brooklyn boys he trusted. They were openly watching Jack and Mush with the same looks of mild apathy.

Spot was close enough to hear exactly what was going on between them and Cluggy, but, in typical fashion, didn't interfere.

It was like the old days when he and Spot had their first uneasy dealings. Back when every meeting was a test and getting there in one piece was half the object. Brooklyn had no reservations about messing with him and he left more often than not with a black eye. Lately, they hadn't been giving him much trouble. He had a feeling Spot didn't allow them to.

Apparently, he was out of free passes.

"Get outta my way," Jack said, staring Cluggy down with a glint of a threat in his eye.

"Nothin' doin'. Spot ain't seein' no one, least of all you, Manhattan," Cluggy said, a pleased smile snaking to his lips. He was clearly relishing the fact he could put some authority into his words. "You 'n me can have us a little talk, though. Would ya like that, Cowboy? Just _you_ and _me_."

Jack looked at Spot, expecting him to put Cluggy in his place with a few choice words. Spot's eyes met his, but he said nothing. Jack tried to keep the disbelief from his face.

Something had Spot unnerved. It must have been one hell of a something, if he wasn't letting anyone, even Jack, get near him.

"Call off your dogs, Spot," Jack called out, confronting him openly, "We got business."

If Spot wanted him gone, he was going to have to say it himself.

For a moment, it looked as though Spot was unmoved. His eyes remained expressionless and Jack half-expected him not to respond. Finally, Spot glanced sideways and said a few words to the boy closest to him. The boy shot Jack a suspicious look, but stood, followed shortly by the other boys. They cleared the stairway, though they didn't stray far, still watching Jack closely. Those milling around nearby took the hint and backed away far enough to be out of earshot.

Spot inclined his head, giving Jack permission to approach.

"And it was just gettin' interestin'," Cluggy said under his breath, his mouth twisting once more into its odd smile. His eyes turned to Mush. "How 'bout you? You want a matchin' shiner?" he said, cuffing Mush lightly on the side of his face that was already bruising.

"Suck an egg, " Mush said, knocking his hand away.

Jack seized the front of Cluggy's shirt and shoved him back.

"You shouldn't have done that, Ugly," Jack said as Cluggy steadied himself. By the way Cluggy was laughing, it was clear he had achieved his goal by goading Jack into reacting.

Spot slowly stood. His eyes drifted to where Cluggy stood poised with his fist drawn back, ready to strike Jack. The grin instantly fell from Cluggy's face and he backed away, quickly followed by anyone else who hadn't been smart enough to back off immediately.

Spot nodded again to Jack.

"Make it quick," Mush said under his breath, eyeing the group around them warily.

"Yeah," Jack agreed as he hesitantly left Mush and made his way over to Spot.

Spot gave him only a brief glance before his eyes turned toward the docks. He was still paying attention, however little. On any other day, Jack might have been annoyed, believing Spot was ignoring him for the sake of ignoring him. Today, however, he couldn't care less.

"Greene came downtown for a visit," Jack said, cutting to the chase and intentionally leaving out any pleasantries.

"Lucky you," Spot said with indifference.

So, he already knew. Jack couldn't say he was surprised, Spot had a seemingly omnipresent knowledge of what went on in the city.

"He got two of mine," Jack continued.

"So I heard," Spot said, confirming Jack's suspicion. "Was that a message for you or me?" he asked with little curiosity. He was just letting Jack know how much he knew.

Jack didn't answer. On another day, he might have asked Spot how he managed to know what he knew, he might have asked him why, if his boys were close enough to see Mush and Blink get soaked, they didn't feel the need to step in and stop it. But, today he didn't have time for the half-truth answers he would get. He knew something Spot didn't, something that would help him. Though, why Jack continued to help Spot, he didn't know.

"I got a way to get Greene out in the open," Jack said.

"Yeah? I never figured you for brains."

"He wants a meetin', you and him."

Spot regarded Jack with genuine interest. It was clearly the first time he had heard of the proposition. "That so?"

"He says you can pick the terms."

"Lucky me," Spot said with a hint of a smile. It was either exactly what he wanted to hear or he found the idea too ludicrous to be taken seriously. He crossed his arms and looked out at the water, giving the impression he was seriously weighing the potential benefits and risks. Jack knew it was bullshit. He'd probably been thinking of nothing else for weeks and had worked out every last detail.

"I'm in," he said finally, "We'll meet here in Brooklyn."

"Nah, it's gotta be neutral," Jack said, "that means-"

"I _know_ what it means," Spot cut him off with a cool glance, "Manhattan."

Jack hesitated, but nodded.

"No more than twenty. No weapons. Two weeks. If he sets foot in Brooklyn again, it's off. If he causes any more trouble with you, it's off. If I even hear his name in the next two weeks, it's off," Spot said. His eyes betrayed a hint of anger, which he quickly put in check. "And while your at it, tell him he's gonna have to try a _lot_ harder if he thinks he's goin' to get at _me_."

Well, that explained a lot. Greene had obviously found a way into Brooklyn and had taken a shot at Spot. It must have been the 'trouble' Race had heard about earlier. No wonder Brooklyn was so jumpy.

Jack could only imagine that Spot hadn't had any warning and it had taken him by surprise along with everyone else. That's why he was so rattled. For all his information, he never saw it coming. Jack wondered if one of Spot's own had betrayed him. It made sense and it was probably why he wasn't willing to let Jack near him at first, not knowing who he could trust.

"So what's the plan?" Jack asked.

"No plan, Jack. You keep yours out of the way, I'll deal with Greene."

"But-"

"There's nothin' else to say," Spot said as he held out his hand for Jack to shake. The audience was over.

Jack looked at him sharply. He was being dismissed and he didn't like it. He knew there was a plan and he knew Spot was cutting him out of it. Although he had always told himself that he didn't trust Spot, for the first time, he realized how little Spot trusted him.

He was tempted to walk away, leaving Spot's hand empty. It would have been in insult, a very public and noticeable one. For appearance's sake, however, he couldn't allow himself the pleasure. If he wanted to walk out of Brooklyn unscathed, he would need Spot's protection. Not to mention, Manhattan and Brooklyn were still allied and it wouldn't exactly look good for him to snub Spot so openly.

So he shook Spot's hand.

"Thanks, Jack," Spot said, as if reading into Jack's hesitation.

Gratitude. He had granted Spot a big favor in allowing him to meet Greene in Manhattan. Spot's idea of gratitude was leaving him in the dark.

"Go to hell," Jack said under his breath as he turned to go.

"You first," Jack heard in reply. He kept walking. If Spot got out of this alive, he would have some explaining to do.

"He's keepin' somethin' from me," Jack said quietly as he rejoined Mush. He probably wouldn't have cared so much, except for the fact he had agreed to play host to Spot's little reunion. Having bloodthirsty gangs roaming his streets bent on revenge didn't exactly sound like his idea of a good night. He had the most to lose in the arraignment and Spot didn't seem to care.

"It _is_ Spot we're talkin' about here. When has he ever been honest with you?" Mush said, making sure to keep his voice down.

"Once or twice."

"Don't count on him, Jack," Mush said, "He don't care a thing about us."

"I've never counted on him," Jack said quickly, which was, in some part, true. However, a small part of him hoped Spot would come through in the end.

* * *

Race leaned on the railing at the top of the stairs and watched Mush and Jack as they returned. He glanced at his watch briefly before slipping it back into his pocket. They hadn't been gone long; Spot must not have been in a talkative mood. 

Even so, it was already dark and the house was relatively quiet. Most were asleep or getting there. The stairs creaked as Mush climbed them two at a time. Jack followed more slowly.

"How'd it go?" Race asked as Mush reached the top step.

"Good enough," Mush answered quickly as he glanced into the bunkroom. "Did he wake up?"

"Yeah," Race said, glad he could give Mush that much in the way of good news, "He should be alright."

From the amount of relief on Mush's face, Race knew he had probably thought of little else since leaving.

"Did he tell you what happened?" Mush asked hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure he would like the answer. Race nodded. Mush's expression turned serious. "What'd he do? Nothin' stupid, right?"

Jack joined them at the top of the stairs, staying silent as he waited for Race's answer to the question.

"Nah," Race said easily.

"First time for everythin'," Mush said, smiling for the first time since that afternoon. Race felt his stomach turn slightly. He didn't like to lie to Mush, partly because Mush never lied to him.

"I'll sit up with him tonight, in case he needs somethin'," Mush offered, as he made his way into the next room, "No reason you should have to put up with him by yourself."

"Thanks," Race accepted with a stifled yawn, realizing how tired he actually was. He also hoped Jack would take the hint and not ask him anything more about Blink. If there was one thing Race agreed with Blink about, it was keeping the situation quiet, at least for now.

As soon as Mush had gone, Jack crossed his arms and looked at Race closely. "Tell me exactly what he said."

It was clear Jack hadn't bought the simple answer that Mush had readily accepted. Race had anticipated he wouldn't, he would have to convince Jack another way.

There were as many ways to manipulate people as there were people to manipulate. And, although Race never set out in life to manipulate anyone, he found he had a certain knack for it.

Blink could be exploited through his pride, Mush could be convinced by a simple lie, but Jack was a little harder to read. Over the years, Race had concluded that the easiest way to get to him was through his lack of confidence. Not as a person, for he had an over-abundance in that category, but rather in the role of leader that he had half-willingly assumed. He was afraid of stepping on toes, more specifically, the toes of people he had respect for – his friends.

"What's the matter with you? My word ain't good enough?" Race countered with calculated effect.

"No. It's not like that. I didn't mean to-" Jack started, almost apologetically, "It ain't you, it's Blink. There's somethin' goin' on with him that I ain't figured out. It's just-He could be lyin' to you."

Race frowned, pretending to give the idea deep consideration.

Jack had good instincts, he just needed to stick with them. He had the situation pegged the moment Race opened his mouth, but he backed down, just as Race had expected.

"I believe him, Jack. He said Greene was trying to talk him into a favor or somethin'," Race said, giving Jack just enough information to give the impression he was being open, "When Blink didn't go for it, he soaked him. Blink didn't see it comin', but he don't know why Greene left him. I think maybe Greene's plannin' on comin' back for him."

Jack would believe him, because he always did. He often asked Race's opinion and, in some cases, had deferred to it. Maybe that was why Race felt another twinge of guilt. Just because he _could_ manipulate people, didn't mean he enjoyed it.

Jack nodded, seeming to accept the explanation. "Alright. Thanks for talkin' with him."

"What did _His Majesty_ have to say?" Race asked, changing the subject casually.

"He's in," Jack said, keeping his voice quiet in case anyone close enough to hear him was still awake, "He don't trust me enough to tell me what he's goin' to do. But I think he thinks it's a set up."

"Why's that?" Race said, not betraying the fact he already knew it was.

Jack shrugged. "'Cause he's Spot," he said with a thin smile before adding, "Greene tried to take a crack at him this morning. He's still on edge, they all are."

Race did his best to look surprised. It made sense. Greene must have searched Blink out after he was unsuccessful on his own. He knew he wouldn't be able to get in again now that they knew what he was up to, so he went to the person that could get in.

"When's it gonna be?"

"Two weeks, but I bet they don't make it that far. One's gonna take the other out-"

Jack kept talking, but Race was only half-listening. Two weeks wasn't long, he didn't know what kind of shape Blink would be in by then. Although he had told Blink he would come up with a plan, he wasn't any closer to solving the problem than when he had made the promise. The combination of risks and obstacles in their way was daunting. There was a reason Spot was still in control of Brooklyn after so many years, and it wasn't his sparkling personality.

"What?" Race asked sharply, catching only the last few words Jack said.

"I said they're meetin' here," Jack repeated defensively, apparently anticipating the objection. "It'll work. We'll keep ours clear, let those two pound each other. It'll work, don't worry."

Spot was coming to Manhattan. That changed everything.

* * *

Blink pulled his blanket up under his chin and tried to ignore the sunlight that was creeping into the room. He also tried to ignore the hurried footsteps and general pandemonium that accompanied getting ready for work. 

He didn't have very much luck.

Rolling over, he pulled the blanket over his head.

He hadn't gone out to work since the week before. The first few days had been by necessity, considering he couldn't walk in a straight line and spent more time asleep than awake. The next few days had been understandable, but he knew he was well enough to go back out. He was still quite sore and tired easily, but he had worked under worse circumstances in the past.

He could tell Race was getting impatient with him, though he didn't say anything outright. No doubt, if it were Race, he would have been out selling the very next day. It was Race's theory that if you could walk, you could sell. And Blink _could_ walk well enough, Race had seen to that, though he hadn't realized it at first.

Race had begun by putting Blink's cigarettes just out of reach of where he was laying. It was casual enough that Blink thought it coincidence that each time Race happened to be in the room, his cigarettes would just happen to end up on the floor or the neighboring bunk. For awhile, Blink couldn't do anything except wait for someone to return and help him. Gradually, he managed to lean out of his bed just enough to stretch his fingers and reach them on his own. It was that same day that they mysteriously moved farther away. Race blamed one of the new kids. After awhile, Race ran out of new kids to blame, so he made up a few.

When Blink managed to get nearly across the room and back without falling or stopping to rest, Race suddenly forgot to bring him enough water to last the day, meaning he would have to get it from the washroom himself.

He finally caught on and confronted Race.

Race had replied, straight-faced and innocently, that Blink was crazy. He also added that, as long as Blink was up and around, he should think about selling.

Blink had gotten angry, but tired quickly, only managing to tell Race to mind his own business and to keep his hands off other people's cigarettes. He would have preferred to storm off, but limping away slowly had to suffice.

That had been two days ago. Race hadn't approached him about working since.

He knew it was time to get back out, but part of him was clinging to the safety of the lodging house. It was the only place that his trouble and Greene couldn't follow him. The minute he put himself back on the street was a minute closer to the day he was dreading.

Race had told him not to think about the deal he had made, that he would come up with some way to work it out.

How was he not supposed to think about it? He had thought about it every waking moment.

It was true Blink was no genius at coming up with solutions, but it didn't stop him from trying. Race shot down each suggestion he gave him, citing one flaw or another. One time, Race didn't even bother explaining what was wrong with the idea, he just laughed.

Race didn't offer any grand schemes of his own right away. Instead, he would spend hours alone, shuffling a deck of cards or playing solitaire. As the days passed and Race remained silent, Blink became increasingly uneasy.

Finally, Race had woken him up one night and pulled him out of bed. He signaled for Blink to remain quiet as he gestured to the washroom. Blink was thankful for the snores and deep breathing that covered his labored footsteps as he limped slowly across the room. Race was right behind him, his hand on Blink's back, lightly guiding him to the far corner of the washroom.

Race quickly made sure the darkened room was truly empty before he began to speak. His voice was so quiet that Blink had to lean in close to hear him, so close that his ear touched Race's lips as he spoke.

Race had made it clear that their lives were more important than Spot and, if push came to shove, they would save their own skins. He had made Blink agree to this before he shared his plan.

It was meticulous, covering every angle and a few more than Blink hadn't even thought of. If it worked, it would protect Mush, keep Blink safe, appease Greene and keep Spot alive. If it didn't work, well, the first three priorities would be accomplished. It was risky, but Blink took solace in the fact Race never put his money on a bum deal.

Blink rolled onto his side and rearranged the pillow under his head. One more day. He would give himself one more peaceful day before-

"You workin' today?" Mush asked hopefully as he passed by.

"Maybe tomorrow," he mumbled sleepily without opening his eyes. Mush didn't pursue it and Blink let himself drift off again.

The next sound he heard was a loud rapping on the crossbeam above his head. He woke with a start.

"Get goin'," Race said, "You're workin' today."

"Says who?" He gave Race a tired groan as he rubbed his eyes awake.

"Says me." Race threw him his shirt. Blink caught it and threw it right back at him. Race just shrugged and dropped it back on the floor where he found it. He started going through Blink's things, picking out his hat and shoes while Blink looked on in annoyance. Race just wasn't getting it.

"I ain't feelin' up to it, alright?" Blink said. He grabbed his hat from Race's hand and hung it back on its nail.

"You've had enough time, Blink," Race said, pulling the hat back off, "We can't pay for you no more, it's been over a week."

"Bull. I paid for the week," Blink said as he yanked his hat free from Race's fingers again. Race looked at him narrowly and Blink met his gaze with one of equal intensity. As they both went silent, anyone who was still in the bunkroom cleared out in short order.

"You ain't stayin' behind again. Get dressed or your goin' out how you is."

"Look, I ain't goin' and that's the end of it."

* * *

"You're nuts," Blink fumed as Race pushed him through the front door and out into the street. He buttoned his undershirt hastily. "Ow! Quit pushin' me." 

"Race, quit pushin' him," Mush said in only a half-hearted protest. Blink swore he saw Mush smiling. _Smiling._

"At least let me get my hat-" Blink said, planting his feet.

"You had fair warnin'," Race dismissed the request with another push forward.

"Here," Mush slipped him his hat.

Blink took it with a begrudging amount of thanks. The gesture wasn't enough to entirely excuse Mush for the part he had played.

"Hey, Kid! Don't stay out too long. Wouldn't want you to accidentally start workin' or nothin'," a voice called out, just loud enough that everyone on the entire block could here. The boys nearby laughed and Blink set his jaw.

"Nah, he just don't want to go out with his pretty face all bruised up. He's afraid the girls won't look at him no more," someone else answered loudly. There was more laughter and a few catcalls.

"You pay'em enough, they'll like anything."

"He ain't _that_ rich!"

Blink scowled and turned back toward the lodging house. He didn't need that. He knew they were just joking around, but he wasn't in the mood to grin and bear it. Race caught him by his collar and pulled him back.

"Don't pay them no mind," he said. His hand didn't let go of the back of Blink's neck as he kept him moving across the street.

"Yeah, you wouldn't have to pay a girl nothin' to be with you," Mush said with almost a straight face. Mush and Race exchanged a brief glance before they both burst into laughter.

"For Christ's sake- Would you lay_ off_?" Blink said as he wrenched his shirt from Race's grip and glared at them both. He didn't find anything about the situation amusing. He was tired of being joked about, tired of being pushed, not to mention he was just plain tired. The exasperation must have been clear on his face, for Race and Mush quickly stifled their grins.

Race let him walk under his own power and at his own pace the rest of the way to distribution. He knew he wasn't getting out of it, so instead of dragging his feet, he went with his head held high and a deep scowl on his face. He scowled as they waited in line, as Mush cracked jokes to get him to lighten up, as Jack offered to get them lunch, and as Mush and Race finally bought their papers.

Blink didn't get any of his own papers, citing the fact he had been flung out the door before he had the chance to get his money. He said a few more, choice comments before Mush cut in and steered him away from Race, offering to give Blink some of his own papers.

Race didn't care whether or not Blink actually worked, he just wanted him to get out again. The longer he stayed by himself in the lodging house, the quieter he became. Race knew he was thinking of nothing but what he had agreed to do for Greene and the potential consequences. At least getting him working again would take his mind off of it for awhile. He didn't look happier, though. In fact, he looked even more tightly wound.

"Where we goin'?" Blink asked Mush.

"Around here," Mush said, as he divided his stack and gave Blink half, "Find a good spot."

Blink took the papers and headed down the street. By the deliberate sharpness in his movements, Race could tell he still wasn't thrilled to be out, or, more likely, didn't like being forced into it.

"Don't let'im give you any crap or take off early," Race said in parting advice.

Mush nodded, only half-listening as he scanned the newspaper's headlines again.

"Remember, if you see something that don't seem right-"

"Race, he's fine with me. We're all lookin' out for him, nothin's gonna happen, okay?" Mush said reassuringly, "Where you gonna be?"

"I'm stickin' around," Race said, indicating he wouldn't be going out to the tracks, "I'll be up a few blocks."

"Alright, we'll see ya."

Race set off down the block. He hadn't sold in that area before, but it wasn't long before he found some familiar faces and was given the run-down on where he could sell without stepping on toes.

It wasn't long before he found out why nobody had already claimed the spot. After the usual morning rush, there was little foot traffic and, in short, nobody around who'd want a paper. There were a few bricklayers around the block, some kids playing stickball and a woman working the corner.

It was an odd hour and place for her to be working, but Race concluded she lived in one of the buildings across the street and was trying to make a few extra cents before her husband got home. At least she was making money, that's all that counted. And, from the look of it, she was doing better than him at it, having already taken a few men around the back of the building.

She caught Race's eye and winked.

If she had been younger and he hadn't known any better, it might have been flirtatious. But behind her smile, all he could see was her need to make a nickel and the tiredness in her eyes.

He tipped his hat politely and let his attention move on.

"Makin' friends?" he heard Blink say, startling him. He hadn't even noticed him come around the block.

"Don't sneak up on people like that," Race told him.

"Pay more attention to what's goin' on," Blink countered.

Race couldn't say anything to that. Blink had a point.

"What d'you want?" Race said, changing the subject before Blink could revel in the fact he was right. He looked alright, he even had a smile on his face. That was a change. Race credited it to Mush. Blink never seemed to stay in a bad mood around him for long.

"You got a light?"

"No," Race said automatically. Blink never carried enough matches. After the first dozen times Blink had asked for one, Race had smartened up. He hadn't given him a light in several years, barring the odd day of generosity on his part. Apparently, Blink was expecting today to be one of those days.

"Come on."

"I said I don't got one," Race said, not relenting, "Go get one off the brickers." Race gestured to a building down the block. It was close enough that the clanging of trowels and bricks could be heard from where they were. Blink had no excuse not to go and he knew it. He rolled his eyes and reluctantly went off in search of a light.

Race went back to not working. He though he might have had his first sale for the hour when a woman approached him. But it was the woman from the corner and she didn't seem interested in the news.

"Hello there, sugar," a raspy, though decidedly feminine voice said. She regarded him with a thin, yellowing smile.

"I ain't interested," Race said simply. She gave a little, raspy laugh and began to twirl a piece of coarse hair around her finger.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said coyly.

"Sure you don't, honey," he said, "If you don't mind, I gotta work here." Race subtlety moved away from her. It wouldn't be good for business to be seen with her, not that business had been that good to start with.

She didn't seem bothered, taking the snub in stride.

"Where's your friend?" she asked innocently enough.

"I got a lot of friends, lady."

"The one you were with just now."

"I don't know who you're talkin' about," Race replied. They had all become cautious over the past weeks, especially where Blink was concerned.

She wasn't convinced, but seemed to sense she wasn't going to find out what she wanted by simply asking. Her flirtatious smile returned.

"I just wanted to tell him what a good night I had," she said, lowering her voice in false modesty.

Race almost laughed aloud. He should have known that was all.

"Maybe you could tell him for me?" she suggested.

"I'd rather not," Race said, trying not to smile. He managed to keep a straight face as he pointed her in the direction Blink had gone.

"Thanks, sweetpea," she said with a wink.

Race managed not to laugh until she was out of earshot. Blink wouldn't get away with this one. He was going to make sure everyone knew about it. The merciless teasing he would be subject to would get him back for telling the Queens boys that Race ran a rigged game. Sure, Blink had been drunk at the time, but he had lost Race a lot of money and Race had never found a good enough way to get back at him- until now.

"Hey," Race said, barely containing a grin as Blink came back, "Your _lady-friend_ find you?"

"Yeah," Blink said distractedly.

Race laughed to himself, but didn't push it. Blink look like he might have gotten into some sort of trouble, but he wasn't running, which meant he didn't get into anything with the bricklayers or anyone else who could pound him into a pulp. That left the girl. Leave it to Blink to be out of the lodging house for less than day and still find trouble.

"What? You knock her up?" Race asked, only half-jokingly. Blink didn't answer. The smile fell from Race's face. "You knocked her up?"

"No! God, Race. No," Blink said defensively, not seeing the humor in it.

"Then what's the matter with you?" Race furrowed his brow.

"Nothin'," he said with a sudden sense of resolve.

"Don't start with that shit. I ain't askin' again," Race said. He had learned over the past few days that 'nothing' was the worst kind of trouble Blink could get himself into.

With clear weariness, Blink sat on the nearest stoop and looked at Race half-heartedly. He lifted his hat and combed the stray hair out of his face before pulling the cap back on.

"That _thing_ I gotta do-" Blink started.

Suddenly it became painfully clear. Race's expression darkened. "She was with Greene?"

Blink nodded.

Race closed his eyes briefly. And he had pointed her right at Blink.

Greene was smart. Race would give him that. He had sent a woman, knowing she would be able to get in and out without attracting attention. He wasn't playing fair.

"What did she say?" Race asked, his voice hard. He didn't like people who didn't play by the rules, especially when they were messing with him and his.

"He wants it done today," Blink said with a shrug. He was trying to appear unaffected, but it wasn't working.

"But the meetin' ain't for days."

"He says Spot won't be expectin' it. He says Spot won't be on guard," Blink said, his eyes remaining fixed on the ground.

They both knew Spot was perpetually on guard. If Race had to guess, he'd say Greene was trying to get Blink caught. Even if Blink succeeded, he would be in the heart of Brooklyn and wouldn't get out alive.

Race thought it over quickly. There was only one option.

"Get up, let's go," Race prompted him, leaving his papers on the stoop, "We'll stick to the same plan."

Blink stood up slowly. "You don't gotta go with me, Race. I can do it on my own."

"No, you can't. Maybe if Spot was comin' here, but he ain't. You wouldn't get ten feet into Brooklyn without trouble. Besides, even if you got in, you wouldn't know where to look." Race made his argument as he started to walk, not wanting to waste more time.

"Race-"

"Shut up and walk," Race said as Blink caught up with him, "Save your breath for all the fast talkin' you're gonna have to do."

* * *

"Shouldn't we go another way?" Blink asked, glancing back at the bridge. Going to Brooklyn was dicey enough as it was; waltzing in on the most visible route was an open invitation to get soaked. 

"He'll know we're comin' no matter which way we take. Besides, us walkin' right in will look less out of place," Race explained, looking every bit as calm as his voice was.

He had no qualms about going into Brooklyn. He passed through it nearly every day on his way to the tracks, not to mention some of the biggest games were held there. They tolerated him, were even friendly at times, but at the end of the day, everyone knew which side of the bridge he belonged to.

Blink couldn't help but notice the dark stares they were on the receiving end of. The deeper they walked into the territory, the clearer it became that they were not welcome. Blink started returning a few of the looks with equal intensity.

Race glanced at him. "Don't give'em a reason," he said, "Just keep your eyes movin'. Don't look too long in one place. They won't touch us unless we start it."

"Don't tell me they got hearts," Blink said, moving his attention on from a group of boys who were making vulgar gestures toward them.

"Brains," Race said, "They'd have to answer to Spot if they did. You can guess how many of them are lining up for that. They want to soak us twice as bad 'cause they can't. Remember that."

Blink was a slightly more careful about who he looked at.

"Higgins," a boy called out from the corner as they passed, "you lookin' for some action? Got a game set for tonight."

"I'm lookin' for Spot. He around?" Race said.

"Nah, haven't seen'im," the boy answered readily enough. Blink was somewhat surprised. If it was just going to be a matter of asking around, finding Spot wouldn't be as hard as he anticipated.

Race nodded in thanks and continued walking.

"He's here," Race said quietly as soon as they were out of earshot, "The more they say he ain't, the closer you are."

"So how are we gonna find him?"

"It ain't hard, if you know where to look. If he don't want to be found, it'll just take longer."

"We don't have time for this hide-and-seek shit," Blink said, looking over his shoulder for the third time in as many minutes. "Jack never has problems findin' him."

"Yeah, well, we ain't Jack," Race said, "'N quit bein' so jumpy."

Blink tried to calm his nerves. He didn't know how Race could be so composed, or at least _appear_ so composed.

"Thanks, Race," Blink said suddenly, "For comin' with me, I mean. Well, for everythin' else too, but, you know-for helpin' me out." He didn't thank people too often and wasn't very good at it. But, he felt it had to be said and he didn't know if he'd get another chance.

"No problem," Race shrugged it off quickly, not used to being thanked, "Besides, you would've screwed it up on your own. You don't do nothin' right." Race gave him a half-smile.

"There," Race said, stopping abruptly in the middle of the street. He indicated a shabby restaurant on the corner. Its name had worn off the sign that hung crooked over the door and Blink couldn't even see through the filthy glass.

"Where? I don't see'im," Blink said, giving up on the restaurant and scanning the street instead.

"Inside."

"How can you tell?"

"You see that kid standing against the windows?" Race said, pointing out a tall boy who was lighting a cigarette.

"Yeah, so what?"

"That's Bowler. Spot don't go anywhere without him two steps behind. They don't like each other much, but he watches Spot's back. You find him, you find Spot."

Blink wasn't so sure, but Race seemed to be and that was good enough for him. He started across the street, but noticed Race wasn't with him.

"You ready?" Blink asked.

Race looked at Blink pointedly, as if he had something to say, but didn't know if he should say it. "I can do it for you, Kid," he said finally, "If you want me to-"

"No," Blink refused at once, "It's mine to do." Race had already risked so much helping him this far, he couldn't allow him to do more. In the end, it was his responsibility and he would have to see it through.

Race didn't offer again or try to persuade him, he just nodded and joined Blink. They walked slowly toward the restaurant, and tried not to attract any attention. It didn't help that they stuck out like a sore thumb that deep in Brooklyn, but no one tried to stop them.

"You're a long way from home," Bowler remarked quietly as they passed him. There was intense suspicion in his eyes, as if he knew they were up to no good. Blink tensed, expecting they would be stopped right there and told to get out. Bowler didn't make a move, though. Continuing to smoke his cigarette, he only gave them enough of his attention to eye them warily.

"Lookin' for Spot," Race said, "He here?"

Bowler paused, taking a long look up and down the street before he answered, "No." His eyes lingered on Race for just a moment before turning back to the street.

"Come on," Race said, nodding to the restaurant.

"Did I miss somethin'?" Blink asked.

"They got their own way of doin' things here," Race explained vaguely as he opened the door.

Blink followed him in, still confused as to what exactly had happened. Apparently, 'no' meant 'yes' in Brooklyn. No wonder they were always fighting with each other, nobody knew what anyone else was really saying.

The inside was small, only one narrow room with a few mismatched tables crowded into what little space there was. The room was filled to capacity. Not one chair was empty, and there was barely enough room to stand, let alone eat. All conversation stopped the moment the door closed behind them.

Sensing Blink's unease, Race took the first step out of the safety of the doorway.

The boys closest to the door immediately stood up, blocking their path with forks and knives still in hand. Blink swallowed. Race didn't seem phased.

He could feel Race at his side, prompting him forward, but he didn't move. He had convinced himself that he wasn't afraid, so that couldn't have been what kept him rooted to the floor. Uncertain, perhaps. Nervous, maybe. Unwilling to be impaled on a fork, definitely, but certainly not afraid.

Blink glanced over his shoulder as Bowler came in. Filling the doorway with crossed arms and a dispassionate expression, he now blocked any retreat. Not that Blink was having second thoughts.

He scanned the room quickly, finding a back door just a few yards from where Spot was sitting. Of course, he didn't know how much good that would be. Spot was no fool by any stretch of the imagination and his proximity to the door was, no doubt, for his own benefit. And, by coincidence or design, he was surrounded on all sides by boys who looked like they were just waiting for the word to soak Blink and Race five ways from Sunday.

"Well, well. Look what we got here. A couple of true-blue pals," Spot said smoothly, his half-smile never disappearing even as he talked. His apparent lack of concern over Race and Blink's sudden interruption put the others at ease. A few even resumed eating.

Spot looked between them, finally settling his attention on Race. "What does Kelly want now?"

"We're here on our own," Blink said. Spot's eyes darted to him so quickly he almost flinched.

"Oh yeah?" Spot said with feigned interest, his smile turning slightly sarcastic. He was humoring them.

"We gotta talk with you," Blink said.

"So talk." Spot sat back in his chair, giving Blink the impression he was getting his full attention.

"Alone," Blink said, glancing at the other boys that were crowded around Spot. He had to get closer if he even stood a chance of success.

"No," Spot said. The amused look that had played on his face faded instantly as he glanced to someone just behind them. "That's far enough."

Blink hesitated. He felt a hand dig into his shoulder.

"Not another step, Manhattan," he heard a voice hiss near his ear. He didn't have to look to know it was their new friend Bowler. And, by the sound of a slight scuffle behind him, he could tell Race was making some new friends of his own.

"Say what you gotta say," Spot said, his eyes narrowing first at Blink, then at Race, trying to figure out what their intent was. He was on guard now and had stood up from the table, putting more distance between him and them. The fact they were still standing was probably just a courtesy to Jack.

Blink readied himself, though deep down he knew no amount of fast-talking was going to get them out of this.

He had only one chance.

His good eye glanced to Race one last time. Race nodded just once, so slightly that it was almost imperceptible.

It was now or never.

* * *

Two boys were seen running from a restaurant on the corner. Shouts followed them into the street as they split up and disappeared into the confusion. The restaurant emptied at a terrible speed, boys still clutching their dinner knives. Some stood in disbelief, others gave chase. 

"Traitors!" they yelled.

"Death to Manhattan!" they screamed.

Across Brooklyn, boys left their selling spots and gathered in the street. Anger swept through the milling crowds. They wanted revenge. As word spread, the numbers grew larger and the rage grew more chaotic. Threats were spoken openly, windows were broken, storefronts smashed. The police wouldn't go near them, fearful for their own safety.

The city slowly went quiet, waiting for the upheaval that seemed imminent. The silence lingered as he lingered, but it wouldn't be for long. It was early evening when the word came and all hell broke lose.

Spot Conlon was dead.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. An _extra-_long update to make up for the wait. I hope you enjoyed :0) All feedback most welcome. 

Shoutouts-

BTW, I heard a rumor that we were no longer allowed to do these? Is that true?

B- Hehe, your reviews never cease to make me smile :0) I just realized I totally missed Blink week. -Again- Oy. But I get points for updating, right:0)

Lou- Your view on the characters was so insightful, and made me see things I never realized before. Thank you so much again for writing to me, I really appreciated what you said :0)

Sprints- Oh, oh, what was it? You don't have to say, I'm way too curious. :0) The summary at the top was totally thanks to you. It was definitely needed and should have been done sooner. Thanks!

Tuesday- Race is probably one of my favorite characters for just those reasons ;0)

Braids- -double glomp- :0) Thanks!

TSB- Hehe, no pressure…no, none. None at all -whistles innocently-

Faro the black dragon- Well, you might need to wait a little longer to get the full answer :0) Thanks for reading!

Gothic Author- I totally typed 'Auror' again facepalm Damn you, HBP. I hear ya, I haven't been on much myself lately. I'm happy I've lured you back though ;0)

Christianrockstar- Hehe, well, they sure did something :0) We'll have to wait to see exactly what ;0) Thank you for reading, I'm really glad you've enjoyed the story thus far.

msskd3987- I am in much love of Ms. 24601 myself and take it as a great compliment to mentioned in the same sentence as her :0) Thank you so much for reading!

Allie- Here:0) I'm glad you enjoyed!


	18. The Last Night

Jack sank heavily into the nearest chair. He closed his eyes, but kept all other emotion from his face, aware of those around him. He numbly listened as Skittery told him what he had heard.

Spot was gone. The cut had been too deep and he'd bled out.

The story had come in bits and pieces and it still wasn't clear what exactly had happened. The only facts that remained consistent were that Spot was dead and Kid Blink had done it. Brooklyn wanted retribution. Blood, nothing less.

Even though the rumors had started hours ago, he never truly believed Spot would die. It was Spot, after all. Spot had been around long before Jack had picked up a newspaper and Jack always expected him to be there long after he left. Spot saw everything coming; he never got himself into a situation he couldn't get out of. As much as he hated to admit it, Spot had taught him more about life than most. Not about loyalty or friendship, but of the harsher side of the world; of disloyalty and self-gain at the expense of others. No nobility among thieves, Spot had said once. For he had a sense of honor, but it wasn't complicated by decency.

It was just unbelievable. Blink was a lot of things, but a murderer wasn't one of them.

There wasn't a reason given, no clue as to why Blink would have gone to such lengths and let them all suffer the consequences. Then again, Jack didn't often have a clue why Blink did what he did. Reason or not, it still didn't feel right. Blink couldn't have done it on his own, and more importantly, he wouldn't have.

Jack silently mourned both Spot and Blink in the brief moment before he opened his eyes to face the boys crowded around him. There were heated arguments and panicked questions coming from every direction. Some wanted to skip town until everything settled down, others wanted to take the fight to Brooklyn. No one questioned Blink's guilt or innocence because it didn't matter. Brooklyn was coming either way.

"Who took over?" Jack asked loudly, trying to be heard above the other voices.

"Cluggy and Bowler was fightin' it out," Skittery said in between drags on his cigarette, "Last I heard, Bowler came out on top."

Jack swore under his breath. Bowler had been loyal to Spot, Cluggy hadn't. Whereas Cluggy might have been persuaded to back down after a token fight, Bowler wouldn't be satisfied with anything short of the bloodiest revenge. It also meant he wouldn't be bought off with promises of money or territory in payment for Spot's life.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask. "What do they want?"

"They say they'll go easy if we give Blink up. He ain't been found, they think we'se hidin' him," Skittery answered.

"Tell 'em we ain't. And if we were, we'd give 'im up," Jack said. The last part wasn't true, but he figured it was worth a shot.

"They ain't exactly in a listenin' mood right now."

"When are they comin'?"

Skittery shrugged. "Tonight, tomorrow, a week, I don't know."

"I heard two days," Mush spoke up. There were murmurs of agreement. "Either way, I'd think about leavin' town, if I was you, Jack. They ain't gonna be happy when they don't find Blink and you'se the next on their list. They're sayin' you put him up to it."

"You think I'm scared of them?" Jack said with an easy smile, "They ain't nothin' without Spot and I ain't afraid of 'em." His confidence, however forced, put the others at ease, though the ones that knew better exchanged wary glances.

"Seein' as how they're so harmless, we even gonna bother fightin' with 'em? Or we gonna just sit here and hope they get lost on the way over?" Mush said.

"We're outnumbered. Even if we stood against them, we ain't no match," Skittery added.

"Why you always gotta say the worst like that?" Mush gave him a dark look.

"I'm bein' honest," Skittery said defensively, "We ain't got a chance."

"Says you," Mush shot back. The room dissolved into loud conflict once more.

Jack tried to block out the noise as he realized the truth in what Skittery had said. On their own, they were outnumbered, plain and simple. Two days wasn't much time to get everyone together and find willing allies. They had to fight, not because it was the right thing or the smartest thing, but because there was no other option. Their pride wouldn't allow them to simply cut and run. Not to mention, Manhattan was the only home most of them had.

"Listen up!" Jack said as he stood. He waited until the room quieted before he continued.

"Everyone knows the odds. You want out, go. The rest of us is gonna fight."

He paused. No one left. At least the odds wouldn't be getting any worse.

"Alright," Jack began, "tell the young kids to stay clear 'til it's over and get word to anyone who ain't here, let 'em know what's goin' on."

"What about numbers? You got any smart ideas on evenin' the odds?" someone called out from the back.

"I'm gettin' to that," Jack said, waiving off the interruption. "We need help, I ain't gonna lie and say we can do it on our own. So, send the word out. Call in whatever favors you got, promise anythin' you have to. Go to anyone who had it out for Spot or Brooklyn and say whatever you gotta say to get them down here. Got it?"

The boys nodded.

"Then why are you still standin' here? Move."

Knowing each moment from then on counted, they moved quickly. There was a hurried exodus out the front door and the boys dispersed down the street in different directions. As Mush walked past him, he caught Jack's eye and nodded wordlessly to the front door. Jack turned to see Race had slipped in and was doing his best not to be noticed as he made his way to the stairs.

Jack had heard here and there from his own boys where Race had been that afternoon. The last they saw of him was when he crossed the bridge with Blink. After that, he seemed to disappear. Whatever trouble Blink had gotten himself into, Jack had no doubt in his mind that Race was in it just as deep. Strangely, though, the rumors plainly stated that Blink had acted alone and not one mentioned Race.

"Race," Jack called sharply. He didn't know whether to be distrustful or angry, so he settled on both.

Pausing at the bottom step, Race looked at his feet briefly before he lifted his eyes to face Jack. "What?"

"Get over here," Jack ordered him, "Now."

After a slight hesitation, Race complied. Jack regarded him suspiciously and made no attempt to hide it. If Race noticed, he didn't let on. He looked at Jack evenly, almost daring him to voice his doubts.

"Where you been?" Jack asked.

"Around," Race responded with deliberate vagueness.

"Around?" Jack repeated, disbelievingly. "I got five different people tellin' me they saw you goin' into Brooklyn with Blink this mornin'. Seein' as how Blink killed Spot in Brooklyn, I think I got a good guess what you been doin' 'around'."

Race didn't answer.

"Where's Blink?"

"How should I know?" he said defensively.

That was the first clue he knew more than he was letting on. If he hadn't been involved and Blink was pinned for something that serious, he would have been concerned at the very least.

"You were there, weren't you?" Jack said, the accusation clear. He wasn't going to give Race the courtesy of tact. In his opinion, not punching Race the moment he walked in was more polite than he deserved.

"Don't ask me that, Jack," Race warned him before turning back toward the stairs.

Jack grabbed hold of his arm before he could go far. He wasn't getting off that easy. "I figure you got two ways outta this. You come clean and tell me what you know or you walk out that door and don't bother comin' back."

"It ain't that simple," Race said, twisting his arm out of Jack's grip.

"Either you had something to do with it or you didn't. Sounds simple to me."

"Fine. I was there but I didn't see it happen, alright?"

"Not good enough."

"I didn't see it," Race maintained. "Look, there was a lot goin' on. Me and Blink was talkin' with Spot, Cluggy came in shootin' his mouth off about somethin'. We got caught in the middle. All I know is, when the dust cleared Cluggy said Blink done it. I didn't stick around to argue, I pulled him outta there first chance I got. We ran for it."

Race's voice faltered for only an instant, but Jack caught it. Something had him rattled. As he spoke, he wouldn't even look him in the eye. It was so unlike him that Jack didn't know what to think.

"If Spot's dead, Blink didn't do it, that's for sure. He didn't have no blood on him," Race said adamantly.

"How'd you manage to get out in one piece?" Jack asked.

"Luck, I guess. We split up. I hid out 'til it was clear and came back first chance I got."

"And Blink?"

"I-I don't know," Race said with uncharacteristic uncertainty, "If he ain't here, I don't know where he is. He said he'd be back."

The explanation on the whole was plausible, but there were small details that didn't add up. For one, he couldn't imagine Race abandoning Blink in the middle of Brooklyn to find his own way out. Or why the rumors never mentioned Race when he was standing right next to Blink, especially when Blink was relatively unknown to Brooklyn and Race was familiar with most of them. He knew Blink wasn't capable of murder and Race wasn't stupid enough to involve himself with something that big.

Jack considered Race a moment, not believing him completely, yet at the same time not willing to believe he would lie about something so important. But, he couldn't start doubting the people he trusted most, not now of all times.

"We'll look for him," Jack said. "Anyone we can spare."

Race nodded, visibly relieved. "I'll head back out, start lookin' before it gets too late."

"I'll go with you."

"No," Race said as he moved to the door, "From what I been hearin', they're gunnin' for you out there and that kind of attention I can do without."

Jack had forgotten about that. In Brooklyn's mind, he was the mastermind behind the whole mess. He didn't know which was more ridiculous: him wanting to kill Spot or the idea he would send his friend out to do it.

He watched silently as Race disappeared alone into the night.

The waiting began.

* * *

As the night hours turned into morning, there was little in the way of good news. As the afternoon came and went, the news turned from bad to worse. No one was willing to help. The excuses were the same. They didn't think Manhattan had a chance, they couldn't spare anyone, they thought Manhattan had made their own bed and should deal with the consequences. 

Blink hadn't been seen, alive or dead. Though he didn't tell anyone, Mush had been out looking for him since dawn.

As the night approached, the last of the boys returned and any remaining hope faded. They were on their own, forgotten by those they had helped in the past.

When Skittery began to reiterate the odds against them for the fifth time, Jack pushed his chair back and stood. He didn't want to hear any more about the hopelessness of it. He couldn't keep pretending everything would be all right, because it wouldn't be.

The discussion picked up again the moment he left. By the time he was out the door and sitting on the front steps, Race had started to lay out the best options they had for defending themselves.

Jack didn't know any more about tactics than the rest of them. When it came down to it, they would probably just end up punching the nearest unfamiliar face. But it was something to talk about and pass the tense hours. It would only be a matter of time before they would get the first warning that Brooklyn had crossed over the bridge.

There was little telling what would actually happen. Jack had only witnessed a few scraps as big as this one was promising to be. The bulls might break it up in the first ten minutes, or just sit back and take bets on who would win. Brooklyn might show up with everyone they had, or just those that supported Bowler. Queens could come to their senses and remember all the favors Manhattan had done for them in the past, or they could be the sissies he had always taken them for. It was a toss up.

Everything or nothing could go their way.

Jack watched absently as the lamplighter began his slow movement down the street. The sky was already turning dark.

He picked through the cigarette stubs that littered the stairs and found one that was only half-burnt. He re-lit it and settled back, taking in the surroundings as best he could. It would probably be his last night alive. If he did survive, there would be someone else who wouldn't.

This wasn't the way he imagined it. When he did get around to dying, he always thought it would be in a gunfight with an outlaw or something, not in the street. He had survived so long already he figured it was a sign that he'd eventually make it out.

The talking inside had quit. Chairs were being moved and coins were clattering on the tabletop. Cards. High-stakes by the sound of it. Jack leaned out of the way as a couple of boys came down the stairs and walked toward the pub on the corner. It could very well be their last night too and they all knew it. It would be spent in abandon. One last night together before everything changed.

"Jack Kelly?" a voice asked.

Jack barely turned his head, just enough to make sure it wasn't a knife-wielding Brooklyn boy trying to make a name for himself. It wasn't. It was just some kid.

"What's it to you?" Jack said dully, flicking the ash from his cigarette.

"Heard you could use some help," the boy said.

Jack's expression lightened. Finally, some good news.

"Who sent you?" he asked. Maybe Queens wasn't a bunch of sissies after all.

"Nobody. Guess you could say I came on my own."

Jack felt his newfound hope fade as quickly as it had come. They were still alone.

He was tempted to tell the boy to go home. One extra body wasn't going to make much difference, especially this kid. He looked a bit older than most, like he might have had some experience, but that was the only thing he had going for him. He wasn't a fighter, that much was clear. He didn't have any scars or hold himself the right way. Jack would have been surprised if he could have knocked out an old lady.

Still, it was pretty gutsy for him to put himself on the line for strangers.

"You got a name?" Jack asked as he motioned for him to sit. The boy took the invitation and sat a careful distance away.

"I got a few."

"Gimme the one you like best," Jack said, offering him the cigarette. "The one you want read over your body."

"Not that I plan on dyin' any time soon," the boy said as he took the cigarette with a nod of thanks, "but, I'd have to say Box."

"Is that right?" Jack said, humoring him, "Just Box?" It was a common enough name. Half the kids that rode the rails were called 'Box' or 'Boxcar'. He probably liked using the name because of the infamy that went with it.

"Most call me Box," he said with a shrug, glancing sideways at Jack, "Some call me Greene. I answer to both."

Jack choked out a laugh.

"Somethin' funny?"

"That your idea of a joke?" Jack said in disbelief, "You goin' around tellin' people you'se Greene?"

"No joke, I swear," the boy laughed good-naturedly, "Look, I'll prove it to you." He rolled down one of the sleeves of his shirt to reveal a faded dark stain.

"See that?" he said, holding his arm out, "That's your boy Kid's blood."

The smile fell from Jack's face.

"You're a liar," he said darkly, too repulsed to consider the possibility. He stood up from the stairs, giving the boy a disgusted look as he turned to go inside.

"I had it on my hands too, but it kinda faded," the boy continued conversationally.

Jack stopped short of the door. He had a powerful urge to crack the wise-ass kid's skull wide open, Greene or not.

"Mush!" Jack called back into the house, keeping his narrowed eyes trained on the boy.

"Yeah?" he heard Mush respond from somewhere inside. A chair scraped against the floor, followed by reluctant footsteps. Mush appeared briefly at the door. "Look, can it wait? I was just about to win-"

Mush froze. A momentary confusion crossed over him as he looked between Jack and the boy. His expression quickly turned hard, into one of a quiet hate.

Jack didn't even need to ask.

So it was Greene. The bastard wasn't a liar, though it didn't make him any less a bastard. Jack instinctively moved away, putting more distance between them and almost backing into Mush, which was probably a good thing considering Mush looked like he might take a swing at the first opportunity.

"It's okay, Jack, I don't bite," Greene said as he unhurriedly moved to stand. "Can I call you Jack?"

"You got nerve," Jack responded bitterly. He wasn't impressed with the kid before and he was less impressed now that he knew who he was.

"That's what they say," Greene replied with a self-satisfied smile as he dusted himself off.

"What's he doin' here? You outta your mind?" Mush said intensely to Jack. It was obvious he regarded Greene's presence as much more of an issue than Jack did. He had seen up close what Greene was a capable of and the image of Blink in the alley was indelibly etched into his memory.

Greene nodded to Mush in recognition. "Nice to see you again," Greene said amiably. "No hard feelings, I hope." The overt friendliness in his voice seemed nothing more than a calculated taunt.

"Just say the word, Jack." Mush clenched his fist.

Jack was tempted to. He glanced briefly to the street, not seeing anyone that looked like they would come to Greene's aid.

"Don't get stupid. I'm here for a chat, nothin' else," Greene said, amused more than anything else at Mush's threat.

"What do you want?" Jack asked with a healthy amount of suspicion.

"To help, plain and simple."

"Oh yeah? And why would you want to do that?"

"You got Conlon outta my way. You did me a favor and saved me some time. I figure I owe you for that. Seein' as how I don't like owin' people, I'm willing to help you out so we're square."

"We didn't have nothin' to do with it," Jack said quickly.

"Sure you didn't." Greene didn't seem all that concerned one way or the other.

Jack didn't buy it. "What are you getting' out of it, 'sides a clear conscience?"

"Nothin' you want," Greene assured him. "Brooklyn," he conceded after a moment, giving Jack a brief, knowing grin.

"They won't follow you. They hate you. Spot made sure of that," Jack said, hoping he would go and take his offer with him. Then Jack wouldn't be tempted to take him up on it.

"I wouldn't worry about it. I got more friends in Brooklyn than Conlon ever did," Greene said easily.

That wasn't a comforting thought, though a real possibility considering Spot had few friends to begin with.

Jack wasn't stupid though, he knew Greene had more than Brooklyn in mind. After all, Brooklyn was just a hop, skip, and a bridge away from Manhattan and he didn't believe Greene would stay content on his side for very long. However, without Greene's help, they wouldn't survive long enough to find out.

Jack couldn't believe he was even entertaining the thought, but Greene represented their last chance. His stomach turned at the idea of joining with someone like that.

"How many you got willin' to fight?" Jack asked despite himself.

"Twice what you got, easy."

"I'll think it over."

"That's all I'm askin', Jack," Greene said. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, as if he already knew what Jack was only starting to realize. There was no other way.

* * *

"You ain't thinkin' nothin' over," Mush said fiercely. "We ain't joinin' with him." 

"We gotta look out for us, Mush," Jack said as he pushed past him. He motioned for everyone to come over as he reached the center of the room where most were still either watching or playing cards. Race briefly looked up from his hand.

"Everybody shut up," Jack called out loudly.

"Jack, don't-" Mush warned him. Jack ignored it.

"Listen up, I got somethin' to say," Jack said as he picked up the deck of cards, abruptly stopping the game. There were protests and a few boys tossed in their hands with frustration.

"Are you drunk again?" Skittery eyed him.

"Nah, just stupid," Mush said under his breath.

"Everyone knows we're on our own here," Jack began, "But there's someone willin' to help us. He's got more numbers than us and he ain't afraid of goin' against Brooklyn. Thing is, most of us don't like him for real good reasons. He's been causin' trouble around here for a while and as far as I can tell, his word ain't worth shit. But helpin' us helps him get what he wants, so I don't think he'll cross us until after."

"Go on, Jack. Tell 'em who you wanna deal with, who you think's gonna watch our backs," Mush said, crossing his arms.

He took in a slow breath. "Box Greene."

"Christ," Skittery breathed.

"Is that some kinda joke? What's the matter with you?" Dutchy said, giving Jack a disapproving look.

"You know what you're gettin' into?" Race asked quietly, not looking up from his cards.

Jack hesitated. He knew what he was asking, it was just as distasteful to him. He wished there was another way, but survival was the only thing on his mind now. He didn't care about the how, he just wanted to get as many boys through tomorrow alive as he could.

"Seein' as how we don't gotta chance without him, I say we take our chances with him," Jack said finally.

The room was silent. Some looked at Jack like he was out of his mind, others had a bit of hope in their eyes.

"I say we don't," Mush said, breaking the silence.

Jack kept his patience as best he could. "This ain't a vote, Mush."

"Maybe it should be," Mush returned evenly. There were murmurs of consent.

"Are you and me gonna have a problem here?" Jack couldn't hide his disbelief. Mush had never gone up against him like that before.

"Yeah, I think we are." Mush met Jack's eyes unwaveringly and held his ground with all the stubbornness that Jack would have expected from Blink. He knew why Mush didn't want anything to do with Greene and he didn't blame him. But he had to look beyond, see what Mush couldn't.

Race glanced up at Jack. "Who died and made you king? We vote."

Jack set his jaw, barely nodding his consent before he looked away. He could only hoped enough of them cared as much about self-preservation as he did.

"Alright," he heard Race say, "hands up if you wanna chance it on our own."

Jack couldn't help but look. There were quite a few hands besides Mush. Clearly, the ultimate benefit was not enough to sway them.

"Hands up if you think we need the numbers," Race said. Jack lifted his hand along with the majority of boys in the room. He didn't need to count to know more had sided with him.

"Sorry, Mush," Race said.

"We're joinin' with Greene. This is how it's gonna be," Jack pronounced. Not everyone was happy, but no one disputed him. He was silently thankful for it.

"It'll work, Mush," Jack said reassuringly, "I know it will." He rested a hand on Mush's shoulder. Mush shrugged it off.

"Don't kid yourself," Mush said, looking him squarely in the eye, "This is the worst mistake you ever made."

* * *

He went alone to see Greene, to give him the decision that signified both their potential salvation and downfall. It was accepted in one brief moment, with one brief handshake and one smile that was not returned. 

Jack was gone for less than a half-hour, but by the time he returned, the lodging house was nearly empty. It was still early in the evening and there was plenty of time to get drunk. The recent turn of events was more than enough of an incentive to drive even the most well meaning to the pubs.

Greene had offered to buy him a drink. He had refused. Just because they shook hands didn't mean Jack liked him any better. He still considered Greene an enemy. After all, he had soaked Blink senseless and didn't think twice about it. Not to mention he had a habit of trying to kill Spot. But however much he disliked Greene, he knew keeping his fist in check significantly increased his chances of surviving through the next night.

Jack sat on the nearest chair and kicked off his shoes. He stretched out his toes and rested his head on the back of the chair. Just as his eyes drifted closed, he heard footsteps descend the stairs halfway before stopping.

"Jack, we gotta talk." Race's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"If it ain't important, I ain't interested," he answered.

"It's important."

"Well?" Jack prompted him as he settled into a more comfortable position.

"Upstairs," Race said uneasily.

"Nobody's here," Jack said, waving a tired hand at the empty room. The only reply he got was the sound of the creaking floorboards as Race climbed back up the stairs.

He sat for a moment, not entirely sure he wanted to know what Race was up to. By the tone of Race's voice, he had the feeling the news was not good and the vague sense it wouldn't make his life any easier.

He dragged himself to his feet and started upstairs, careful not to trip over anything in the dark.

"Race?" he called out as he reached the top step. Squinting through the dim light, he saw the silhouette of someone sitting astride the far windowsill with one leg out on the fire escape. If Race was thinking about dragging him up to the roof, he had another thing coming.

Just as he moved toward the window, he heard Race's voice coming from an entirely different direction.

"Over here," Race said as he replaced the glass top on a lamp, "We don't got much time." A dull flicker of light illuminated his face faintly as he carried the lamp across the room toward the open window and the figure.

Jack followed him uncertainly. He immediately thought of Blink, daring himself to hope he had made it back alive.

As they neared the window, it became clear Blink was not the one that had found his way back to the lodging house. He recognized who the person was a moment before the light revealed it. Apparently, death was treating him well.

"Looks like you got a world of trouble on your hands, Jacky-boy," Spot said.

"B-But-I-you?" Jack started, the shock of seeing Spot not only alive but sitting directly in front of him destroyed any attempt to communicate a clear thought.

"Don't think about it too hard, you'll hurt yourself," Spot said, clearly amused by the whole situation.

"I thought you was dead," Jack managed finally.

"Don't tell me you was broken up about it," Spot said with faint sarcasm, dismissing the heaviness in Jack's voice. "You really think after all these years I'd go so easy?"

"If you ain't dead, where's Blink?" Jack asked immediately.

"Back in Brooklyn, layin' low."

Jack took it in. It was a lot to swallow. Not only was Spot alive and well, but apparently, Blink was just fine and dandy too. Everything Jack had done, every worry, every hour of lost sleep, had been over a lie. He was torn by an overwhelming sense of relief and the subtle realization that Spot had screwed him over once again. Though, this time he had help.

Jack glared at Race with suspicion and steadily rising anger. "I bet you were in on it the whole time."

"In on it? Hell, it was his idea," Spot said before Race could answer. "He figured the whole thing start to finish. Tell him."

"Yeah, tell me, Race," Jack said bitingly. "See if you can go for two words without lyin'."

"I'm sorry, Jack. I mean that," Race said.

"I bet you do." Jack didn't want an apology. An apology wouldn't help anyone, it wouldn't stop people from being hurt. "You got any idea what you've done? Brooklyn's on it's way 'cause they think we killed him."

"No, they're comin' 'cause I told 'em to," Spot corrected him smugly.

Jack whirled around to face Spot, his anger brimming to the surface. "And why the hell would you do that?"

"Take it easy."

"I don't got time to take it easy! I got Box Greene comin' here-"

"I know," Spot said calmly.

"You know?" Jack accused him, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You planned this, didn't you? Christ. You got him to come down here, you set this whole thing up- "

"Look, stop yellin' and I'll tell you," Spot said.

"How 'bout you tell me or I knock your teeth out?"

"Fair enough." Spot chuckled as he propped his leg up on the window frame and settled back. "Higgins, tell 'im how it went."

"Greene was after Blink, we all knew that," Race began slowly, as if he knew what he was going to say was not going to be received well. "Turns out, Blink made a deal with Greene sayin' he'd kill Conlon. He never planned on doin' it, but he got himself caught in a tight spot. So I figured a way to give Greene what he wanted without anyone getting' hurt.

"I knew the only reason he wanted Blink to do it was because he wanted Manhattan to take the blame," Race continued. "Knowing that, it was just a matter of playin' into his hands, or lettin' him think we were. He'd think Conlon was dead and Blink did it, so would everyone else. Brooklyn would turn on us, he'd think we was all easy pickings."

"Did you even think about how many ways it could have gone wrong? How many of us you put on the line?" Jack asked. He didn't question why Race did it, he knew it was for Blink. But, he didn't like how it was done and the fact Race kept everyone in the dark.

"No, not really," Race replied sarcastically. "I thought I'd see how many I could take down at once. You know, set a record or somethin'."

"You're a fuckin' wise-ass, you know that?" Jack retorted.

"As much as I wanna see you two deck each other, time ain't exactly on our side here," Spot said, ending the imminent argument before it could start. "Save your little heart-to-heart for later."

"You got anything to add to this mess? Or are you just here for the view?" Jack said with little patience.

For once, Spot seemed more than willing to talk. "Your boys came to me with their idea. Me, bein' smart, realized it would work, if done right. So I took 'em up on it. They needed me to play dead, so I played dead. No one knew except a few of mine who could keep it quiet. Bowler knew, but he don't care one way or the other if I'm gone, so he played it out well. As far as most of my boys is concerned, I'm dead and they think Manhattan did it. So what Box has been seein' the past few days convinced him it's true.

"Your boys made a run for it, made it look good to anyone watchin'. While Bowler got everyone riled up, I slipped out the back and no one's the wiser. I ain't been in Brooklyn since it happened," Spot said. "Stories got a life of their own, don't they?"

Jack wasn't amused.

"We joined with him. You understand that? I shook hands with him, Spot," Jack said, trying to get him to realize it wasn't a game they were playing. "You think I would have done somethin' like that unless I had to?"

"No," Spot agreed, "and I don't hold it against you. It was the only way."

"The only way?" Jack repeated. The realization hit him suddenly and everything fell into place. "You got to all of them first. You got them to stay out of it. You made it so we'd be on our own."

"It had to be that way."

"No, it didn't. You could have told me, I would have played along."

Spot shook his head. "No, he's got a head for set-ups. He would've known somethin' was wrong. I couldn't risk it. You had to believe it so he would believe you."

Jack briefly looked sideways at Race. "Maybe you should've talked with him then. You bein' the better liar between us."

"Look, I said I was sorry and I ain't gonna say it twice," Race said coolly, not playing into Jack's anger. Jack had every right to be mad and he was prepared to take it. "If I had to do it again, I'd play it the same way."

"Yeah, well I wouldn't. I wouldn't believe a word outta your mouth," Jack said bitterly. He nodded toward Spot curtly. "Hell, I trust _him_ more than I trust you right now."

"I'm honored," Spot said dryly.

Jack's remark stung, but Race didn't let it show. "If you got a problem with me, it's gotta wait. We're talkin' business."

Spot regarded them with faint annoyance.

"You got anythin' to eat around here?" Spot asked, changing the subject abruptly, "I ain't ate since yesterday."

"No," Jack practically snapped at him. Only Spot would think about food at a time like this.

"Go get somethin' for me," he said to Race.

"This ain't Brooklyn, I don't gotta do nothin' you say-" Race started.

"Do it," Jack said with a sharp glance, daring him to refuse.

It didn't takehim long to understand what Spot was really after. Race leaving would eliminate the conflict. He probably wasn't driven by any higher motive to make peace, he just wanted things to run smooth.

"And a smoke," Spot added. Race gave him a withering look, which he returned with a smug smile.

Race didn't look the least bit happy about being told to leave, and made it abundantly clear as he stalked out of the room. Jack felt himself breath easier oncehe had gone. He never liked arguing with Race.

"What are you getting' out of this, anyhow?" Jack asked as he sat wearily on the nearest bunk. He had no doubts Spot was getting more than a laugh for his efforts.

"He's comin' here expectin' a fight. When he gets here, you and me will turn on him. He's done before he knows what's what. Problem solved. That's' the only reason I'm in on this. In exchange for me playin' along and protectin' your Kid, I get my shot at Greene."

"How'd you know he'd join up with us?"

"It took a bit of work," Spot said, clearly proud of himself. "I got the word out that you was desperate and didn't have a chance, which wasn't too far from the truth. I got him thinkin' Brooklyn could cream you with no trouble. That wouldn't benefit him none. He needed you to put up enough of a fight to weaken Brooklyn so he could take it. So he had no choice but to offer to help you, he couldn't let you screw up his big chance. That's the beauty of it, Jacky. He's walkin' right into it and he don't even know it.

"It's a good plan," Spot remarked, "Your boy is real smart, but don't tell 'im I said so."

"I won't," Jack said more harshly than he intended. Race was smart. He acted very carefully and not out of emotion. Race would have done whatever would make the odds better. He didn't have to lie, but he did. It wasn't personal though, Jack realized, it was only to increase his chance of success.

"Higgins wanted to tell you, but I didn't let 'im," Spot began, almost as an afterthought. "Truth was, he couldn't have told you much. He didn't know what I was doin' to get Greene down here. All he wanted was to help his pal out. He gave me my chance, but he didn't want to know how I was going to use it."

"I wouldn't be too sure," Jack said. Race wanted Greene gone as much as Spot did. He took it personally what Greene did to Blink. Getting Spot involved was like handing someone a loaded gun, he knew what would happen.

What he said to Race wasn't true. He still trusted him, even though he had put him in a terrible position. Hell, if it all worked out, Race would have taken care of a big problem for all of them. People like Greene didn't just go away.

On the other hand, he didn't know if he could trust Spot at all, though at times he had thought he might be able to. He had no misconception that Spot was only ever acting in his own best interest.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" Jack said. There was no time like the present and he wanted to put the subject to rest in his own mind.

"Shoot."

"Seein' as how I'm puttin' myself out on the line to help you, I figure I got a right to know if you'll do the same for me."

"Was there a question in there somewhere?" Spot asked, taking enjoyment in being difficult.

"I wanna know if I can count on you," Jack said.

"Sure," Spot said lightly.

Jack was taken slightly off-guard by the answer. "So, you're sayin' we can trust each other?"

Spot stifled a laugh. "You bein' serious?"

That wasn't exactly the answer he wanted, but he had expected as much.

"I thought you had that figured by now," Spot said as it became clear Jack wasn't joking. He hesitated, as if trying to come up with a diplomatic way to answer the question. "I don't trust nobody," he said finally. "Don't take it personal."

"You're full of it."

"Oh yeah?" Spot said, "What do you know about it?"

"You're sittin' here right now. You didn't do it on your own. You had to trust people enough to help you," Jack said plainly. "Look, you had to trust your boys enough to know they wouldn't let slip that you wasn't dead. You had to trust Race and Kid enough to go along with their idea in the first place."

"You think too much," Spot said, his patience visibly waning. "What do it matter anyway?"

" 'Cause I wanna know if this goes bad, you'll cover my back and look out for someone besides yourself."

Spot considered him for a moment. "If I give you my word, I'll keep it. If you help me, I'll help you. If you cross me, you'll regret it. You can trust that."

Jack wasn't interested in vague promises. He wanted to know he could trust the person making the promise.

"You know that ain't what I'm askin'," Jack said, though he had the suspicion Spot knew exactly what he was getting at, "Besides, how I remember it, you gave me your word you wouldn't touch Blink. Took you less than an hour to break it."

"I said I wouldn't hurt him. I didn't. I just wanted to scare 'im. Good thing I did or your boy wouldn't be nothin' but a stain on the street by now. Besides, how I remember it, you was the one ready to stick 'im.

"You didn't answer me," Jack said, ignoring the last remark.

"No, I didn't," Spot agreed, but didn't say anything further. He leaned back against the window frame and absently searched for a cigarette in his pocket.

Jack exhaled with frustration. Well, at least he tried. In truth, he got more of a response than he anticipated.

To a certain degree, he believed he had figured Spot out. That's why he allowed himself to depend on Spot, however little. Not to mention, Spot hadn't crossed them openly or caused problems, though he had ample opportunity to do both. That counted for something with Jack.

"Let me tell you a little somethin', Jacky," Spot began suddenly as he struck a match and lit his cigarette. "Back a few years, when I was a kid, I had this pal I used to run with. We started out in newspapers, we was pretty good at it too. We got some respect, worked out way up, beat out the competition, you know what it's like. We worked together 'cause we was too young to go it on our own."

"Sooner or later, we realized we didn't need each other no more, but we kept workin' together. We was friends and all that. He had brains, could work any deal. I took care of the dirty stuff. I guess it worked out, I got a reputation for bein' tough. So one day, word came around that he wanted it all for himself and me outta the way. So I beat him to it. I had him set up to be killed. Turns out he was loyal, never said nothin' against me," Spot said with little emotion.

"So, you made a mistake," Jack started.

"I knew that before I had it done," Spot said. There wasn't a hint of regret in his eyes and he wanted Jack to know it.

"Why are you tellin' me this?"

"So you know how I treat people who trust me," Spot said bluntly. "I like you, Jack, you're a good kid and I can respect that. But, I like roast beef sandwiches too. Likin' someone, bein' friends with 'im, it don't mean nothin' in the end. You think 'cause we talk and share a smoke that we'se pals and we'll stick our necks out for each other. I don't stick my neck out for nobody. The sooner you get that, the better off you'll be. I don't trust Bowler or Higgins or any of 'em, I trust what they want. If they ain't workin' in their best interest, I know they ain't on the up and up."

"So you think I'd turn on you first chance I got?"

"No."

"Would you turn on me?"

"Yes," Spot said without hesitation.

Jack looked at him closely, almost waiting for him to crack a smile and say he was joking. He didn't.

"You wouldn't," Jack insisted, more to convince himself. He couldn't believe he had been so wrong about someone.

"You don't know for sure, do you?" Spot said. "You think you got me figured, Jacky, but you don't know the first thing about me. You only seen what I showed you and I ain't showed you a whole lot."

Jack nodded briefly as he looked down at his hands. He asked, so he couldn't blame Spot for answering. Still, it was one hell of an answer considering Spot was expecting his help.

Spot seemed to sense his unease. "You want me to say I trust you? Fine. It'd be a lie, but fine, let's say I do. It'd only be because I been watchin' you for a long time and know you inside and out. You don't cross your pals, you never killed no one and don't like hurtin' people. You don't cheat unless you been cheated and you help people out when you ain't getting nothin' out of it.

"Now, give me one good reason why you should trust me," Spot said, looking at Jack closely.

Jack remained silent. It was true he knew very little about Spot. He lied as much as he told the truth, no one knew quite what he was capable of. To a point, his word could be trusted, but it was nothing Jack was willing to stake his life on.

"No? Didn't think so," Spot said flatly. "I'm givin' you my word I ain't gonna wrong you or Manhattan and that's all you're gonna get. I'm done talkin' about this. Where's Higgins? I'm starvin'."

Spot hadn't ever been this honest with him before. Of course, it was more than likely that Spot wasn't being honest with him at all. No matter how cold Spot tried to make himself out to be, he did have a vague sense of honor and Jack didn't think he would outright betray them. However, it wasn't in his best interest at the present. Jack could only imagine what would happen when it was.

"Was any of it true, what you said about your friend?" Jack asked after a moment.

A small smile crept into Spot's lips. "Nah, but it made a good story."

"Your friend wasn't named Greene, was he?"

"Couldn't say he was."

"He's full of shit. You know that, right?" Race said abruptly, stepping out from the doorway. Jack didn't know how long he had been listening.

Spot looked at him sourly as he crossed the room. Race tossed him a small bundle wrapped in paper. He barely caught it before it collided with his head. Race didn't bother to apologize and Spot didn't thank him.

"Don't believe nothin' he says," Race said.

"Watch yourself," Spot advised him, a light threat in his voice. He looked at the food with doubt as he peeled the greasy brown paper from the sandwich. The smell wasn't exactly pleasant. "Where'd you dig this up?"

"Garbage out back," Race said. "I figured it was good enough for you."

"Race!" Jack snapped. It wasn't exactly the best time to go toe-to-toe with Spot.

"Nah, don't worry about it," Spot said dismissively as he took a bite of the sandwich. "He's full of hot air. Let 'im talk, it's good for a laugh. Besides, he knows when to quit. Don't you, Higgins?" Spot gave Race a long stare before he took another bite. Race set his jaw, but didn't say anything else.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jack asked, not missing the silent exchange. Spot wasn't generally the forgiving type and Race usually didn't shut up until he was good and ready.

"Nothin'," Race said sharply, "Forget it." It was a not-so-subtle suggestion aimed directly at Spot, but it only seemed to encourage him.

Spot finished the bite he was on and gestured to Race. "See that scar near his ear? Go on, show him."

Race didn't make any effort to turn his head and show Jack, but Spot continued anyway, "I busted his head open once. It was a good shot, bled for days. He couldn't hear too good after that."

"I hear fine," Race replied, the color rising slightly in his face. "Maybe if you didn't punch like a girl, I'da gone deaf and I wouldn't have to listen to you no more."

Much to Jack's surprise, Spot just laughed.

"When was this?" Jack said. He had never seen Race and Spot share an actual conversation, let alone an argument. At best, they mutually ignored each other. At worst, they exchanged cheap shots and kept walking. No one had ever mentioned any history between them, though Race did spend a good deal of time in Brooklyn, so it wasn't impossible.

"Before," Spot answered, looking to Race. "Ain't that right?"

Race grudgingly nodded once in agreement.

'Before' meant anything that was history, a done deal. It could have been five months or five years ago. Whenever it happened, Spot was more likely indicating that it was over and done with and wasn't Jack's business. Race didn't argue the point or seem willing to discuss it further, so Jack let it go.

"He got off easy," Spot said. Race snorted under his breath at that; Spot ignored it. "You know Cluggy, right? You ever wonder how he got so ugly?"

Jack was sure he didn't want to hear the answer. Cluggy's one defining feature, beside his utter lack of likeability, was a severe scar that tore down through both his lips and twisted his mouth into a frown. It seemed almost deliberately made and now that Jack pictured it, it did vaguely resemble an 's'. Though, for some reason, he couldn't picture Spot doing something like that.

"One night, he was crackin' wise and laughin' about somethin' I said. So I took his knife and gave him a little reminder not to laugh at me. He don't grin so much any more."

Jack's mouth fell open slightly. "You did that? You cut on his face like that?"

Race rolled his eyes. Spot's smile widened.

"No," Spot admitted. "But I like sayin' so."

"See? He's full of it," Race said.

Spot glanced at Race warningly. "Say, didn't I bust your arm that same night? Yeah, I remember it. You tried to cheat me."

"I didn't try. I did. That was just the first time you caught on."

Jack remembered it. Race came back one night with busted arm. He said it happened while trying to hop on to a streetcar. He slipped and lost his grip.

"You said you hurt your arm fallin' off-" Jack started, but Race cut him off.

"I know what I said," Race said quickly, giving Jack a look for bringing it up. He rarely got caught in a lie and seemed all the more angry that Spot was the one to do it.

"Well, well, well," Spot said with clear satisfaction, "looks like I ain't the only one full of shit."

"Fuck you," Race retorted.

"Can it wait 'til I'm done eatin'?" Spot answered innocently.

* * *

* * *

A/N: Alright, another long update for the _wicked_ long wait. Thanks for your patience! If everything goes according to plan there will be one more chapter and possibly an epilogue and then we're done. I'll be going back and changing a few things, but nothing big.

And I have to give tremendous props to B for helping me out on this and being an awesome beta.

Since shoutouts are technically illegal now (?) I'll just give a quick thanks to B, Braids, mssd3987, TSB, Oxymoronic Alliteration, christianrockstar, luckyrocks73, Erikthephantom, XOCutieOX, Lou, AmazinglyMe, DeeSarrachi and GlumAndDumb. Thanks guys, you rock:0)


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